


First Love Then Marriage

by Leoblooms



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoblooms/pseuds/Leoblooms
Summary: After living together in NYC since the mid-seventies, John finally decides that he wants to marry Paul. Paul, though extremely delighted to do so, is terrified of the press knowing, and the backlash that will most likely come about it. Gay marriage may be legal, but it is still not widely accepted. John, though he’s gone on about his hatred of the press, finds it difficult to keep it down. Whether it’s due to him struggling to realize that he’s about to be 40, or he just cannot bring himself to hide his love away. Either way, trouble is brewing for the two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the first part of my big bang fic! Hope everyone enjoys it!  
> Also, so much thanks to Lucylisy on tumblr for proofreading and helping me out so much!!

December 31, 1979  

John Lennon had a fairly good life. At least, as good of a life as a celebrity pretending to not be in a relationship with his musical partner could have. It was no secret between them and their former bandmates that John and Paul were involved with each other during their Beatle years, even at a time where they could have easily been sent away for it. Though their relationship had been on and off, facing tensions as The Beatles rose to the top and fell within the blink of an eye, and around ten years of playing. Needless to say, that was their biggest separation out of them all. John remembered resenting Paul, writing not-so-vague songs about Paul, and vice-versa from the other man.   

Though, past all of the bad feelings, John could not bear to be without him. Paul realized this as well, as he felt the need to so much as visit John in New York during a tour of Wings with his girlfriend, Linda, at the time. At first, it all seemed like a miserable idea to see each other again. Never had there been more awkward silences and body language. John, leaning against his wall with his arms crossed and glaring up from his round glasses, and Paul with his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he attempted to lighten the mood. But it only took Paul taking a seat at John’s white piano, and playing around with the keys until John joined in. Again, those old feelings of love clawed its way back to the surface, and the two were inseparable yet again. The rest went on in such a flash, John could barely keep track of every detail. One second they loathed each other, now here Paul was in  _their_  own car on the way back to  _their_  shared apartment, where  _their_ child was.  

The two musicians sat close to each other, as close as they could possibly get. It was only in their car that Paul seemed the most comfortable, nuzzling his nose into John’s neck and placing a small kiss every once in a while. John watched the lit buildings pass, then smiled at Paul. Thank God for tinted windows and a trustworthy driver.  

"Had a lovely night, love?" John asked, placing his arm around Paul's shoulders. He shivered as Paul’s teeth grazed his neck.  

“Mm, yeah, Johnny, fantastic little place. Spoiling me, you are.” Paul mumbled, sitting back, and rubbing at his eye.   

“As always,” John chuckled, moving his hand lower to rub the other man’s arm. With a short yawn, Paul lifted his wrist to check his watch. His hand continued upwards, running his fingers in his brown hair, slightly tugging at strands.  

“Not even midnight and I’m already starting to yawn,” Paul said. “Guess that’s the first sign of age, eh?”   

“I’m older than you, and I haven’t yawned once. You sure you’re just not drunk?”  

“Nah, that was the one part where the restaurant failed me,” Paul grinned. “Couldn’t get me drunk on New Year’s Eve, not even a buzz.”  

“Aw, my poor sobering boy,” John pouted, reaching up to stroke his boyfriend’s hair. “We’ll have to fix that.”   

“Oh, really? Should I get Fred to take a quick stop for some New Year’s drinks?”   

“Got that covered, bought it ahead of time. It’s back at the apartment.” John pressed his lips to Paul’s cheek for a quick peck.  

“You know me too well, Lennon,” Paul said, poking John in the shoulder.  

It truly was great, and John wouldn’t give it up for anything, but there was still something missing. Something John thought of as he and Paul’s relationship grew closer and closer until they actually lived together. He never thought to talk to Paul about it, he was always too scared to bring it up. That was of course marriage. While marriage for two men was not legal until a year or two ago in New York, John still dreamt of him and Paul bound together, as mushy as that sounded in his head. Paul never showed interest in marriage when he was younger, but John could tell that the thought was also stirring in that mind of his. The way he spoke of almost marrying Linda, or an off comment about feeling  _like_  he wasmarried to John. The thought was there, but would he act on it? John figured not, it seemed to be up to him to take initiative, and this was it. Carefully, without trying to draw much suspicion, John placed his hand on his pants' pocket. He could feel the ring he would use, and yanked his hand away so Paul wouldn't take notice.  

Their apartment was beginning to come into view, John knew exactly what that meant. Paul detached himself from John’s body, pretending that he was definitely not kissing and embracing the man next to him. He would do what he normally does when it came close to going back into the eye of the public. Paul straightened up, pushing his hair back, and looking himself down to make sure not a single bit of clothing was out of place. John had to wonder if Paul was ever ashamed of such actions on occasion, but brushed it off immediately. Nothing more than a ridiculous thought, he told himself. John could never see Paul in that light.  

The two men wished their driver a good night as the car rolled in front of the building. He gave them a tip of his cap, then a small wave once they were out of the car. Walking side by side into the building, their bodies remained close, heat emanating from each other, even in the frigid December air.   

The elevator ride up felt like forever. The musicians only able to give each other longing glances, dying to get a hold of each other again. Paul even got a little more daring than usual, brushing his fingers against John’s hand before wrapping his pinky around the other man’s. The move surprised John, usually Paul wouldn’t take the initiative, fearing that the doors could open before their floor, but he didn’t complain. It sadly only lasted for a breath once Paul remembered they weren’t in privacy just yet. Paul pressed his back to the wall of the elevator, hands deep in his pockets as he began to watch the elevator ceiling.  

“You think Sean’s asleep?” Paul asked, breaking his eyes away to the doors, holding his gaze there instead.   

“Hope so, otherwise we’ll have an issue,” John laughed, crossing his arms, and turning to Paul. Paul still kept his eyes ahead. “I told Yoko to have him in bed by nine-thirty, and you know how strict she can be.”   

“Yes, I know. Still can’t help but worry,” Paul laughed along as the doors opened to their floor. “Shall we?” He outstretched his hand to the opened doors, bowing slightly. John greatly exaggerated a girlish giggle, bringing a hand to his mouth.   

“Such a gentleman!” he squealed, taking dainty steps out with his hands waving at his sides.   

“You know I’m glad to have such a manly man in my life,” Paul whispered, pulling out his key as soon as they reached the door, and unlocked it with a click.  

“Says the man with eyelashes longer than his cock,” John said, walking inside before his boyfriend, who gave him a playful punch to his back. The older Japanese woman emerged from the living room, an open book in her hands. She looked up at the musicians when the door clicked open, and greeted them.   

“Hi, Yoko,” said John, “is Sean in bed? He didn’t give you trouble did he?” With a wave of her free hand, she held her book by her side, and approached the men.   

“He’s  _been_ in bed, John.” Yoko craned her neck to check the time. 11:40, the grandfather clock showed. “Funny, you said you two would be out much later.”  

“Yeah,” John rubbed his neck, “night ended a little earlier than expected. Plus we thought we’d do our own celebrating back here before midnight.” John turned to Paul, waggling his eyebrows. Yoko placed a hand up, silently stating how little she needed for him to go into anymore details. John nodded in understanding, unbuttoning his jacket, but not taking it off just yet.  

“Thanks again,” Paul said, stepping aside so that she could walk by. She gave a friendly nod, but didn’t verbally respond. She only grabbed her long, black coat, and slid it on with such grace.  

“Yeah, thanks, Yoko,” John added, bringing her in for a tight hug. “We know you’re always so busy anymore.” She wrapped her arms around his back to reciprocate the action, giving a thin-lipped smile.   

“It’s no problem, John, anytime. Goodnight.” Yoko pulled away from John and shut the door behind her without another word. Her light footsteps slowly vanished as she got farther from them. Paul waited until the door was shut, and her footsteps could no longer be heard to speak.   

“I’m sure that woman still doesn’t like me. No, I  _know_ she doesn’t,” he sighed, sliding his coat off and taking John’s to hang up as well. “She barely said a word to me when she left, but she was all fine with you. Acted like I wasn’t even in the room.”  

“Well, you were never that kind and accepting to her before, Paulie,” John reminded the man, grabbing his arm so that he could kick off his shoes. Paul did the same as he shook his head. He was fully aware of his past actions towards the woman, but he’s apologized so often it almost meant nothing. John hated reminding Paul, but he couldn’t take Paul’s side blindly after witnessing the dirty looks and snide comments first-hand.   

“I know, but I wish we could just let bygones be bygones, y’know?” Humming, John took Paul’s face into his hands, softly kissing his cold lips. His thumb brushed Paul’s cheek bone as he broke their kiss.  

“I know, love, just give her time, yeah?” was all he could think to say. The younger man placed his hand over John’s, catching the hand as it was being pulled away. Hesitantly, John pulled away, grabbing at Paul’s hand again to tug him along.  

“Yeah, I suppose,” he replied, following John to the door of Sean’s bedroom. Pressing a finger to his pursed lips, John cracked the door open to peek inside. Paul leaned over too, looking over John’s shoulder. The dim light from outside of the room shined in to show the little boy, fast asleep in his bed. He barely stirred, with the exception of tugging on his duvet in a dream state. The two smiled lovingly to the undisturbed child, then to each other.   

“I can’t believe he’s already four,” John said, carefully shutting the door.   

“Growing up fast,” said Paul softly as he lightly jabbed his boyfriend with his elbow. “Remember when the press heard of Yoko being pregnant? Thought they’d all have a right heart attack.”  

“How could I forget classic headlines such as: ‘Lennon Has Next Child Out of Wedlock: Could Ruin Image Forever!’?” John rolled his eyes with a curled lip. “Not like it would be the first time. You’d think I was about to slaughter the unborn thing.”  

“Imagine if they found out the  _real_ reason she was pregnant,” Paul pointed out. The truth of the matter was that Yoko never had Sean for her and John. John had approached her privately, knowing that they still remained close friends. He phoned her one day, asking her if she would carry the child for them to keep suspicions low from the press, as it seemed better for her to carry John’s kid than a stranger. The press would certainly blow that up much more. Yoko thankfully agreed, and would also watch Sean time to time when she wasn’t busy with her art. She would usually take him out to the park or something along those lines. Her, John, and Paul knew it gave the press reason to not be suspicious when they saw her out with Sean. The only ammo they would ever have was the child out of wedlock, but that died within a few days.  

“Christ, don’t make me think about that.” John pushed Paul ahead, right to the kitchen. He opened one of the cupboard doors, carefully pulling out a average-sized paper bag. “Let’s just focus on getting buzzed by midnight. We’ve only got fifteen more minutes, and I’ve got a surprise for you.”  

“Another gift, Johnny? I told you you were spoiling me too much. I’m almost embarrassed I don’t have anything for you.”  

“You’re a gift, Macca.” John pulled the bottle out the paper bag, presenting it proudly.  

“If you, John Winston Lennon, say anything that soppy again, I think I may get sick,”  the man giggled, leaning against the counter top. Rubbing his hands together, Paul took a close look at the bottle. “Champagne, very traditional, love,” he pointed out. John nodded as he pulled at the cork with a grunt. Paul rolled his eyes and slid open one of the drawers, and rummaged through it until he came across the corkscrew to hand John. As he held the tool up, John was going in for a second chance to open the bottle to no avail.  

“As fun as this is to watch, I’d like to have a drink  _before_ 1980.” John snatched the tool and hastily screwed the cork out. He reached into the cupboard again to pull out a single glass.  

“Well, then maybe I’ll just have it all if you’re going to be smart, son,” John taunted, pouring himself a glass, and teasingly waved it in Paul’s face.   

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Paul remarked as he grabbed at the glass, only for John to pull away and spill a bit of it.   

“Now look what you’ve done,” John scolded, wagging his finger, then pointing to the mouse-sized puddle. “Maybe you  _have_  had enough to drink, Macca.”  

“Such a joker “ Paul gave an obvious fake laugh, his wrist now up to his eyes to see the time again. “Come on, Johnny, we’ve got seven minutes,” he whined.  

“Alright, quit yer pouting,” John gave up his own glass to Paul and reached back for another. He carefully poured his drink, then added a bit more to Paul’s nearly to the top. “Let’s make up for lost drinking time, eh?”   

“Shall I turn on the tele before the ball drops?” Paul questioned, taking a sip before continuing to the living room. “That or, y’know, since we  _are_ in New York, we could go  _see_ it drop?” John shook his head, carrying not only his drink, but the bottle too. The bottle landed on the coffee table as the older man made his way to his boyfriend. He quickly stopped Paul before he could turn the television set on, pushing his hand away.  

“No, I want it quiet,” John spoke in a low voice, his hand finding its way to Paul’s waist. The younger man did the same thing, his fingertips pressing into John’s skin through his clothes. A yelp escaped Paul as a pair of hands hovered over his bum, followed by a firm squeeze.   

“For what exactly? You never needed silence when trying to get in my pants before, have you?” John pulled his hands away, and let them fall by his sides. He patted at his pockets, shaking his head.  

“More than that this time, Paul. It’s important.”  

“Well, come on, out with it, Johnny. You’ve got four minutes.” John tugged Paul to the couch, instructing him to sit down. Paul obeyed, sitting his drink down and folding his hands on his lap. John could see the uneasiness in his eyes as he was seated. John patted down his pocket, terrified that he would blow it all by not bringing the most necessary item. Though he could feel it poke through the fabric, that did not calm his rapidly beating heart. Paul was biting the inside of his cheek, looking to be holding back any questions. John, still standing right in front of the other man, inhaled and exhaled slowly.   

“Three minutes,” Paul reminded.  

“Paul,” John pushed himself to say, taking a quick drink, and placing the glass down. “I,” he sucked in a dry breath before finally finding his voice. He licked his lips, watching Paul fidget and furrow his brow. Panic was beginning to stir in him, John could not mess this up, it had to be perfect. “I’ve known you for most of my life, since I was a teenager. I still remember when I first saw you, with that chubby face and big eyes, you looked so young and innocent.” John had to pause and swallow, those same hazel eyes he was remembering seemingly looking right into him.  

“I remember almost not letting you in  _because_ of that baby face, but I grew to love it, and I love it so much. Just like how I love every other part of you, even if I do make a jab once and a while. You still give me these strange feelings every time I look at ye.” John just knew that his face was pinkened by now, and sweat was formed at the top of his head. It was then that Paul began to smile, which let John unknot as he continued.  

“We became fucking  _legends_ together, you and I, with our little rock band.  _We_ had the world for the taking. Then it all got fucked up, and I know I’m partially to blame for that.”  

“John-“ Paul began, his eyes slightly glassy. John could even feel his own eyes sting, but he still continued his little speech, battling his quickly drying throat.  

“But when you came back in my life, I knew I had to make sure it didn’t go like that again. And even though I had to go through every bullshit thing again, every fight, every tearful drive home,  _every night where I completely lost it,_ I would if it meant we’d come back to each other again. Now, almost five years later, that hasn’t changed, no matter what anyone says. I don’t care if it’s queer or wrong anymore, I love you. Now I want to make sure, we aren’t apart again.” John shakily fished through his pocket and dropped to his knee. He took Paul’s hand, and presented the silver band in his palm. “Marry me?” John questioned, holding the ring up. The ring sparkled and shined, the vibrant, blue sapphire standing out so beautifully.  

Paul was speechless for a second, his jaw dangling open, and his eyes were dinner plates. John would have laughed if he wasn’t so utterly nerve-wracked, with his stomach back to flipping and twisting itself into tight knots again. The glassiness in them remained, lights from the outside shining off of them. John waited for an answer, or some signal of Paul’s response, swallowing hard. He watched as the surprised expression turned to one of playfulness, Paul’s eyebrow arching.  

“Well, gee, Johnny, I’m not sure,” Paul said, rubbing his chin with a thinking expression. “May need some time... Can I get back to you on it?“  

“Less than two minutes, Paul, quit teasing. Will you?” John bit his lip, growing impatient and even shakier. The other man finally dropped his playful expression to one of sheer joy. Paul's smile grew, making him look almost  _drunk_ off of happiness. Lightly exhaling, Paul swiped a stray tear under his eye.  

“Yeah- yes, of course I will, Johnny!” Paul cried with half a laugh as he slipped the ring on. He lunged towards the older man, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. John had to stop himself from snogging Paul right then to grab one last thing out of his pocket; a second ring. It was silver as well, with a single gem, though instead of a sapphire, it was a dark green emerald.  

“You gonna propose twice?” John shook his head, and slipped it on his own finger.   

“Figured we’d both be the bird, for fairness and all.” Paul, with his shaking head and stare lost in John’s eyes, clearly didn’t care for anymore explanation, as he was hastily attacking the man’s mouth. John snaked his arms around Paul’s waist, pressing their bodies closer together. Loud noises booming outside caused the two to leap with their yelps, breaking their kiss. Cheerful, excited cries accompanied noisemakers and the clanging of pots and pans. Men and women laughed and screamed “Happy New Year” like it would be their last breath.   

Coming down from their little shock, Paul laughed and wiped at his eye. It had to be one of those specific moments, where Paul appeared even more beautiful to John than usual. The fireworks excitedly exploding in the night sky behind them lit the room, and the man in front of him, accentuating every little feature. Especially the little wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth that deepened when he smiled as widely as he did now. Though, Paul would probably slap John for mentioning how he was staring at the aged wrinkles on his face. The outline of his slightly curved body and face was so clear as the city lit up. His body was absolutely radiating from the bright lights, streaks of grey shining through his dark hair, that Paul would deny to the end of time were not actually there. But John absolutely loved the bits of grey, shining like pure silver, and felt absolutely weak staring at him.   

“Happy New Year, Paul,” John said, resting his cheek on Paul’s shoulder, hands still at his waist.  

“Happy New Year, John.” Paul’s forefinger and thumb took hold of John’s chin, bringing him back face-to-face. His fingers brushed the rough, light stubble, tracing John’s jawline. Gently, Paul brought their lips back together, his tongue swiping across John’s lower lip. The older man gasped, welcoming Paul’s warm tongue into his mouth to slide against his own.  A hand took to the back of John’s neck, holding him in place to deepen their kiss,  causing the hairs there to stand up. A spin, a push, then a stumble, and John was suddenly bouncing against the couch with Paul straddling his lap. Whimpering, John subconsciously bucked his hips up and rubbed their crotches together, causing Paul to sharply gasp. The older man cut off his boyfriend’s breath with another forceful kiss, too caught up in passion to stop. With a push, Paul separated their kiss again.   

“Bedroom,” he panted, gripping the fabric of John’s shirt tightly. John gladly agreed, motioning for Paul to get off of him and lead the way. The journey to the bedroom was an absolute mess, hitting against the piano, their work desk, the television, and even the kitchen drawers as they found their way through there.The only light source for them was the fireworks that would shine from time to time, which was not totally helpful considering that the light only lasted for a few seconds.  Finally they were nearing their destination, much to their excitement and relief. Shoving him forward, Paul pressed the man's back against the bedroom door, his hands moving lower down John's sides. John suppressed a giggle and ticklish twitch as Paul continued. He then reached behind himself, feeling around until locating the door knob, and turned it. The two almost found themselves on the floor as their support was now swung away from them.   

"Shit-" John yelped as he found his footing, and caught Paul. His boyfriend urgently shushed him, his hand clamped on his mouth.  

"John," Paul gestured his head to the open door. "Sean's asleep, remember?" John pushed Paul's hand away, and stretched his arm out past Paul to push the door shut carefully enough as to shut, but not slam. Paul even lifted his foot and used his heel to move the closing door along its way. Once the door had shut, the couple remained silent for a few extra seconds, hoping Sean had not awakened from their noise. Nothing. They sighed, getting back to work and sloppily unbuttoning each others' shirts. Their trousers and boxers followed, leaving only their socks on as they presented their naked bodies to each other, feeling like it was the first time all over again.  

"John," Paul gestured his head to the open door.   

"Come here, baby," John said, spinning them around, and taking Paul to the bed. His body was pressed into the white bed sheets and duvet, white the mattress gave a squeak. Then came a whine from the man underneath John, earning a quizzical look from the older man.   

"I think you'd look much better down here instead, Johnny. Don't you think?" Paul asked, squirming underneath John with his thighs pressed together.  

"I did all the work putting that proposal together, though," John complained, parting Paul's knees. Taking initiative, Paul used his strength to flip the two, landing him on top. He straddled John's stomach, bringing his face up.  

"I know, love, but then why don't you let me do a little work?" Paul suggested, his thumbs circling John’s nipples, earning a lovely noise from the man. Then, just when Paul least expected it, John wrapped his arms around Paul’s middle, and switched their places again. The only difference from before being that he flipped Paul around, and gave a playful slap on his rear as he giggled like a madman. Paul laughed as well, burying his head into the sheets while his face burned.   

“You really want that, Paulie?” John whispered in his ear, rubbing against him. Another wriggle from Paul as he tried to turn his head to look at John. He gave his best yes considering the state he was falling in, as he couldn’t help but push his bum up slightly at the contact. John peppered his shoulders and neck with small kisses, not sure if that was entirely true. “You seem to like this.” John kept his hand rested on Paul’s ass, kneading the soft, round flesh. And the way Paul did respond to the touch certainly confirmed that to John, the throaty mewl with his eyelids fluttering. It were these little moments that made John forget that he was thirty-nine, and that Paul was not too far behind from that age.   

“I’d just rather have it the other way tonight, love,” Paul explained. “Please?” John would never be able to resist those puppy-eyes Paul put on for John. The way he widened his hazel eyes and put on that McCartney charm. Christ, he still knew how to get what he wanted, when he wanted.    

“Alright,” John gave in, rolling over onto his back, beside Paul. “Come on then.”  

“You sure you’re fine with that, John love?” Paul asked, propping himself up on his elbows. Was that a face of relief? John nodded, letting his legs fall open.   

“As if I’d turn down a fuck from you,” John laughed, motioning for Paul to come over.  

“Not just a fuck,” said Paul, frowning. John couldn’t help but hold his loving smile at how Paul got about their love. That was all the reassuring he needed. Paul’s insistence that anytime they had sex was always making love, not just fucking. It was endearing, even cute when Paul was like that.  

“I know, I know, now get on me, will ye?” John jokingly rolled his eyes. Scrambling up from his stomach, Paul took his new spot in between John’s spread legs. With Paul’s hands on both sides of John, Paul lifted an eyebrow and peered around.   

“Have you got the lube?”   

“It’s where it always is.” John darted his eyes to the bedside drawer, and Paul did not hesitate to reach inside for the palm-sized bottle. He gave the bottle a squeeze, allowing the liquid to drip and slide between his fingers. Once his hand was fully coated, one finger was inserted into John, causing him to arch his back. He felt Paul’s finger carefully probe at his walls before adding a second finger.   

“This good?” Paul asked, scissoring his two fingers, stretching his boyfriend. For the life of him, John would never understand why Paul felt the need to still ask if it was good. He always had to make sure what he was doing was nothing but pleasurable, he’s been like that since the first time he topped John. John didn’t mind, again, it was another endearing quality, but it was hard to answer when he was holding back moans and gasps under Paul. “John?” Paul asked again, pushing his fingers in farther, brushing John’s prostate.  

“Y-yeah, yeah, fan-fantastic,” John stumbled, his cock straining, and begging for relief. The pair of fingers began to move faster inside the older man much to John's sexual joy. Pumping his fingers in and out of John, Paul made sure to only graze John's prostate, obviously enjoying the reaction. The older man pushed his hips down, hoping to take in more of Paul's fingers, but Paul was too quick, and pulled away. “For fuck’s sake, Paul, please!” John begged, growing tired of only Paul’s fingers teasing him. Before he knew it, Paul’s fingers were swiftly removed, the other hand slapped over his mouth again. Another knee-jerk reaction from Paul, John thought.  

“John, Sean’s asleep,  _remember_?” Paul chided, a sliver of panic in his voice. John pushed the hand away with an annoyed glare.  

“Yes, I know, Macca," John groaned. "But  _please_ stop teasing and get to it," John pleaded, hooking his legs around Paul's torso, pulling him closer. “I know, I know, I know. I’ll be quiet, I swear.  

"So impatient," Paul mused, adjusting and repositioning John's legs so that they were hooked over his shoulders. "Don't worry, I don't plan on leaving my Johnny high and dry," Paul said, slowly penetrating the other man. A long, pitchy whine escaped John through his grit teeth, that familiar sensation below making itself known. Paul's cock fully sheathed John, he paused his movement once he was fully inside to allow John to adjust.   

"How are you still this tight after all these years?"   

"Wish I could ask you the s-same," John joked.  

"Watch it, Lennon, or I will finish myself off in the bathroom."  

"Just  _move._ "  

"Yes, dear." Finally, Paul began to move his hips, quickly finding a rhythm within his thrusts. John tried his hardest to keep his voice down, but every so often there was one loose moan that would slip without him even realizing it. Paul didn't give any reaction though, too caught up in his own pleasure. Changing his angle, Paul began to press directly into the other man's sweet spot, knowing he was right on target as an even louder noise left John's mouth. John knew he wouldn't last much longer, and was especially close to his tipping point the second he felt calloused fingers wrap around his weeping erection, pumping him sloppily. With the realization that they could in fact get caught at this rate, John brought Paul down, connecting their lips to muffle them both. John's tongue ravished Paul's mouth as his orgasm neared, tasting the champagne as he licked at his teeth and the roof of his mouth. A thumb swiped across the tip of his length, followed by a tightening grip at his base while the thrusts began to lose rhythm.  

"Johnny, oh, Johnny, Christ I'm gonna-"   

"Shit, yeah, I am too. Come on, baby..." One last push, and Paul was releasing himself deep inside his boyfriend as he also rode out his own orgasm. John felt his entire body convulse and contract, his own cum landing on his stomach. He shuddered at the feeling of being filled by Paul, only to lose a bit of that as he pulled out. The younger man collapsed on top of John, his face pressing into John’s quickly rising and falling chest. The two panted like dogs as they were stuck together by their own mingling and mixing sweat, not that they minded.   

“Good?” Paul felt the need to ask, despite the fact that John was a giant mess at the time. Sticky auburn hair was pushed away from John's forehead, and replaced by a pair of plump lips.   

“Very," John answered, controlling his breathing so that it was back at a steady pace. Brown eyes connected to hazel as John stared at Paul, the afterglow of the two so bright and erotic. "You?"   

"Amazing." The pair remained in each other's loose, exhausted embrace for just a minute longer before John began to fidget. He never did get used to the sticky feeling that became painfully present in the aftermath of it all. Paul took notice of John's usual actions and face, and rolled off of him. Standing over John, he held out a hand, which John graciously took.  

"How about we get a nice shower, then we can finish that champagne that we so cruelly abandoned," Paul offered, tracing an invisible line down John's chest. Graciously, John nodded and eagerly followed Paul to the bathroom.   

"Only if you promise to help me wash, Macca," John said, earning a half-lidded grin.  

"Such a bargainer you are, Lennon."  

The remainder of the night was one that John could never forget, even if by the end, when the sun began to rise, he was drunkenly slouching on his now fiancée, Paul. The smell of a cigarette mixed with whatever fading cologne it was that Paul wore was the last thing to hit John's senses as everything faded from his eyes.  

***  

January 1, 1980  

The sun radiated through the window, and the outside excitement of the new year was completely dead. John could not even remember how he got there, but there he was back in his bed with his chin on Paul’s chest and arms lazily draped around him. He must have only slept for two hours max considering that he felt like he had been hit by a truck. Regretfully, he opened his eyes, immediately met with the light blinding him. An excruciating pain pounded in his head also leaped on John, much to his dismay. With a groan, John buried his face in his boyfriend’s chest, bringing the duvet closer to his eyes. He prayed that Paul nor Sean were awake just yet. At least give him an extra hour,  _just one_. Stirring under the older man, indicating that the other person he specifically did not want awake, was awake.   

"John...?" Paul mumbled, remaining still. John muttered under his breath, forcing his eyes to open.  

"Yeah, Paul?" For some reason, Paul found some entertainment in John's morning troubles, and chuckled.   

"It's morning."  

"Really, now? I didn't realize that by my hangover."  

"Do you know what's special about this morning, though?" John, being too pained and exhausted, just shook his head. He guessed something about the new year, feeling the embrace around him grow tighter.  

"It's our first morning engaged, love," Paul answered, stroking John's hair. This actually got John to lift his pounding head up from the other man's chest, a grin spreading as he came to that realization. He looked down at the ring on his finger, then to Paul's, both seemed to shine just as bright as last night.  

"You're right, Mr. Soon-to-Be-Lennon-McCartney," he said.   

"Quite a mouthful, Mr. Soon-to Be-McCartney-Lennon."  

"I like the other way better," John said in a low voice, rubbing his unshaven cheek against Paul. "Has a better ring to it, just like our record label."  

"I dunno, Johnny, I think  _mine_ has a better sound to it."  

"Are we really going to do this now? Do you really want our first fight to be over the order of our names?" John laughed, eyeing the younger man as he waved him off.  

"Fine, we'll debate the order later,” Paul concluded with an exaggerated huff. The two weren’t looking directly at each other, but John still knew how great the man against him looked. The smell of cigarette smoke and cologne was still present and caused John to breathe it in deeply. It all felt too good, it had to be a dream. He was  _engaged_ to the love of his life, a  _man,_  something he thought he would never get in his lifetime. The moment could not get anymore perfect, and the older man wished he could stay in it for at least just a little longer.  

A knock on the bedroom door.  

"Daddy?" A small voice called, knocking on the door again. Fucking hell, John cursed in his head.   

"Paul?" The child's voice was heard again, followed by another knock. Mumbling and grumbling, John was pushed over by Paul, who was stretching one arm while the other rested on his forehead.   

"Hold on, dear," Paul yawned, pushing himself off of the bed, and retrieving a pair of boxers and pajama pants. He tossed John his own, ordering him to change the best he could. John did so, battling the shooting pains in his head every time he so much as turned. More impatient knocks and calls told the two that they had to open the door  _immediately,_ so Paul shuffled over, and opened the door. He was met by the young boy attaching himself to the younger man. Paul’s hand rested on the boy’s messy, black hair as John made his way over to do the same.  

“Hey, Sean,” Paul greeted, and Sean hugged his leg tighter.  

“What’s wrong, hon?” John asked, shocking himself with just how gentle he spoke while experiencing the most excruciating pain.   

“I’m hungry,” the four year old mumbled as John pushed his hair back. It had only occurred to John and Paul that it had to be much later than when they usually get up with Sean. Hopefully not too late since John felt like he only blinked, and he suddenly had to wake up.  

“Oh, we’re sorry, Sean,” Paul said, pursing his lips, “Daddy and I were just up a little later than usual.”  

“With what?”   

“Nothing, Sean, just doing adult things,” John cut in to answer. Rubbing his hands together, John put on a friendly face for their child. “So how about we get breakfast going, yeah?” Sean excitedly nodded with a wide smile as he took their hands, and pulled them along. As they were pulled along, Paul caught a glimpse of the clock once they neared the kitchen.   

“We slept until eleven,” Paul said to John, them looked down at Sean. “You have been waiting quite a bit,” he sadly added. Sean didn’t answer, he only tugged harder.   

“Alright, we’re coming, son,” John spoke up as they entered the kitchen. He lifted Sean and helped him into a chair, then walked to the stove. “Eggs okay, you two?”   

“Yeah, scrambled!” Sean squealed, causing the two to wince at the noise.  

“That’s fine, John. Do you want any help?”  

“Think I can manage making a couple eggs,” he snorted. Paul nodded, standing up to retrieve a few aspirin tablets that they kept in the cupboard. He poured three cups of orange juice, the smallest with a lid for Sean, and slightly larger glasses for them, and dropped the tablets into the two. Gratefully thanking the younger man, John balanced three plates of scrambled eggs and toast to the table, and joined them to eat. Sean had already been sloppily stuffing the eggs into his mouth, holding the child-sized fork like he were holding a spear. Paul chided the little boy, telling him to slow down and chew, holding his hand over his arm. When Sean did so, Paul pulled his hand away, and took a swig of his drink.  

"So, I thought that your dad and I could take you out for a bit. Wherever you'd like," Paul said, eliciting a surprised face from John.   

"Can we go to the park?" he asked, eyes wide.  

"I think we can manage that. Right, Johnny?" John looked up from his plate to them.  

"That's fine with me," John answered, drinking his orange juice, and biting back the urge to throw up. How the hell could Paul be so chipper and function after last night?! McCartney Magic, he supposed.   

"Great, then we'll go after breakfast." Sean cheered while John held back the urge to kick Paul under the table, he knew Paul was just trying to make it up to Sean. Plus, it would do the engaged couple good to spend some time outside together with Sean, and get used to being seen in public that way. It all would have to come out eventually anyway, after all. Agreeing to Paul, John began to force himself to eat as Sean told them what he and Yoko had done yesterday. John could barely register some of it as he fought his nausea, but nodded and smiled anyway.  

***  

"Daddy! Paul! Come on, come on!" Sean yelled, running ahead of them through Central Park.  

"We're coming, we're coming! We aren't as young as you, you know!" John called to the boy as he pulled Paul along. The two men had been subjected to playing tag with their son for a good twenty minutes, with no sign of him running out of energy. Paul finally shook John's  on his arm, doubling over to catch his breath. John stopped in his tracks, and turned to go back to his boyfriend, calling for Sean.   

"Alright, Paul?" John asked through his own gasps for air, rubbing his back as Sean ran to them. Taking a seat on the nearest bench, Paul calmed his breathing, as did John.  

"Yeah, just a little out of breath. I really have to stop smoking so much."  

"I'm a bit out of breath too," John said, plopping down beside Paul. Sean was pouting by now, both of the men sat on the bench, not ready to jump up and play. John turned to his frowning son, ruffling his hair. "Sorry, love." He then peered up and noticed two children, maybe a little older than Sean playing. With a little push, John urged Sean to go play with them, to which Sean happily agreed, sprinting over with his young energy. Paul then called for Sean to not wander shortly after as he watched him easily begin playing with the two. They were quiet for a moment until John heard Paul giggling beside him.  

“Do you realize that if I had done something like that back in the 60s, I’d be trampled,” he tittered, placing his hands on his lap. John cracked a smile, then turned his head to Sean again, his mind drifting to a different topic already.  

“Paul,” John began, his voice lowering a little, “don’t you think it’s time that we start telling Sean to call you something else besides Paul?”  

“What else would he call me, Johnny?” John shrugged.  

“Maybe something along the lines of “dad?”  

“He already calls you “daddy,” though. I don’t want to confuse him,” the younger man brought up.  

“Okay, then he can call you “papa,”” John retorted. “It already begins with a “P” so he’ll adjust easy enough, and it's better to do since he's so young and all. I just don’t want him to keep calling you “Paul,” it feels like you’re a stranger to him.” Paul leaned in close, cautiously peering around as he spoke.  

“What if he were to call me that in public, John? Do you understand that the press would absolutely  _hound_ you.”  

“Fuck them, Paul,” John blurted out, earning a stern, wide-eyed look from Paul. That was enough of a hint for John to bring his voice down to almost a whisper. "I mean it, Paul, I don't give a shit what anyone thinks. And you shouldn't either," he asserted.  

"I know, John, but-"  

"But what? We're  _engaged_  for God's sakes," John said even lower, noticing Paul grow more and more jumpy, his eyes darting for eavesdroppers. "What should we do once we, you know, actually  _do it?_  We can't hide after that, Macca."  

"I know, John."   

"Then you should know that it's not right that Sean can't call his father anything besides his own fucking name. It's not fair to him."  

" _I know, John,_ " Paul hissed, lifting his left hand to rub his other arm roughly. "We are not talking about this here, not while we're out, understand?" Paul tacked on before John could open his mouth. The other man complied, becoming silent, though not at all calmed down. John watched the nimble fingers tightly grip the arm, noticing something very off.  

"You're not wearing it," was all he said.  

"What, love?"  

"Your ring. You're not wearing it." Paul jumped, bringing the hand up to his eyes with a surprised expression.  

"Shit, I must have left it next to the sink when I went to the loo after breakfast," Paul admitted, biting the nail of his middle finger. John eyed the man, not fully convinced. He felt his heart sink a little as his fiancee gave his excuse.   

"Yeah?"  

"John, please don't think I did it on purpose. I swear it was an accident, honest, Johnny," Paul babbled, seeing how hurt John appeared. However, rather than get angry, John held a hand up with a weak smile. He wasn't going to embarrass Paul and himself in public and in front of Sean.  

"It's fine, Paul, I get it." Paul nodded, thanking John for understanding. Sitting back against the bench, he sighed with his shoulder squeezing Paul’s shoulder. “We should talk later, not here.” Paul agreed, copying John, and sitting back on the bench to watch Sean run around with the two children.  

"He's quite energetic," Paul said, indicating the child as he started to relax.  

"Yeah, he gets it all from you, ye know,"  

"You can be energetic when you want to be,” Paul pointed out.  

"Paul, I barely leave New York unless I'm on tour with ye, my lazy arse ain't as energetic as it used to be." They shared a laugh, the conflict still surrounding them fading for the time that they spent watching their child. Though, they knew it was only a matter of time until they had to go back and address it all again. John scratched his head while Paul jiggled his leg, both enjoying the sound of Sean's childlike giggles.   

"Speaking of," Paul began with his voice still in the quietest whisper possible, lifting a finger towards his boyfriend, "I thought that maybe Sean could come along this summer. Instead of, y'know, being left with Yoko this time." John lifted an eyebrow at that, he always went with Paul on his tours for their own "alone time" when they could get it. At least, John would join Paul for the first month before taking his leave back to New York, as his tours normally lasted from June to September. John, not a fan of performing anymore, would usually watch from the sides and backstage, loving to see his boyfriend let loose on stage. However, Sean was always looked after by Yoko when the tours Paul set up came around, and they would give their usual morning, afternoon, and nighttime calls. It was the first time Paul even brought bringing Sean into consideration. Tilting his head and pushing his round glasses up, John questioned Paul whether or not Sean was even old enough to come along. Paul dipped his head down with a shrug.  

"I mean, you could always keep an eye on him, John. It's not like you're part of the performance anyway. Then once September comes around, you can bring him back to New York," Paul reasoned.  

"I know, but I thought the reason he never came along was because you didn't want to put him in all of that madness."   

"I still don't, John, but I hate that we have to leave him for three months, and even longer for me. Especially since he's starting school."  

"Pre-school," John corrected.   

"It's still school, John, and he'll be away even more then."  

"For what, Paul? A couple hours?" Paul only answered by noting that those hours was still time that they would usually have to see him. He even went on to say that this would be a good chance to become closer. John had no other choice but to agree, unable to think of a counter-argument.   

John shook his head. "I know what you're trying to do, Paul."  

"What am I doing? Just what is it that I'm doing here, John?" Paul asked, offense taken in his voice. Narrowing his eyes, his hands began to clench into fists against his lap. The older man could have slapped himself. He was getting into a very dangerous position with Paul, certainly not one he pictured being in the day after proposing to the man.  

"Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry," John said, hoping to appease Paul for the time. Luckily, it seemed to work as Paul visibly relaxed his muscles.   

"Fine, I'm sorry too," Paul exhaled.   

They let Sean play around for a bit longer, not wanting to interrupt whatever little game he was in the middle of. He ran about, still in their plane of view, laughing and jumping about as though he were not doing it for so long already. Soon, John stood from the bench and went to retrieve the boy, taking his hand.  

"Come along, love," he said to Sean, gently tugging him.   

"Okay, daddy," he waved goodbye to the children, looking a bit disappointed to be torn from their game. John brought Sean back over to Paul, who knelt down to place a quick kiss to his forehead, to which Sean wrinkled his nose at. Paul responded in his usual, playful way by picking Sean up, and bringing him up into the air. The boy loudly shrieked and giggled as Paul held him up carefully, flying him about. John, despite the negative emotions stirring inside, still fluttered at the sight. Paul was never one to hide his affection for children, even in the public eye. Children and animals, the great Paul McCartney's only weakness.   

"Alright, that's enough of that, you're getting so big. Go on to your dad, we're going to take a few stops at some stores. I'd like to find some new clothes for you." Sean looked to be giving Paul a look to scream 'Please, no, for the love of God don't make me sit through clothes shopping.' John could feel that silent begging even from where he was, especially since he was also one to give Paul a similar look. Paul placed Sean back to the ground so that John could take hold of his small hand again. He led him along, Paul walking at his side, a safe distance between them.   

"Don't worry, we'll stop for ice cream after," John assured Sean, holding his hand tighter. "You and I both know Paul would never turn that down."   

"What's that?" Sean asked, pointing to the ring on John's finger. John wasn't sure what to even say. What was there to say to a four year old who most likely had little grasp on marriage, or anything of the sort.   

"Just something Daddy bought himself, that's all," he responded, glancing towards Paul. The younger man didn't look back.   

***  

"Hey, Paulie," John said, settling into the armchair in the living room.  "You think you'd look good in a white suit?" The radio softly playing in the background. The man was utterly exhausted after spending a whole day out shopping, only to come back to that conversation he knew so well was coming.  

"What was that, Johnny?" Paul called back, stepping out of Sean's room, maneuvering past the few bags of clothes that Paul may or may not have gotten carried away with buying. He took his seat on the couch right next to the chair, fiddling with the ring on his finger.  

"Found it, eh?"   

"I told you, I left it by the bathroom sink. If you don’t believe me, I’ll even wear it on that interview I have this week.”  

“No need, Macca,” John assured his boyfriend. Paul sighed as he stopped adjusting the jewelry. "Since when do you have an interview?"  

"Since I told you yesterday over dinner. Got a call from some bloke asking me to appear."  

"Explains why I don’t remember," John snorted, earning a playful "git" comment from the younger man.  

"Now, what did you say before?" Paul questioned, straightening his back.  

"I said, do you think you'd look good in white? You know, a nice, formal white outfit?"   

"I suppose?" Paul shrugged. "Why?"   

"Well, you know, that whole thing couples go through when they decide to get married," John gestured with his sarcastic tone. "Usually one of them wears white, and you would look just perfect in a nice white gown." John flipped his hands outward, waving them flamboyantly.   

"Ain't that meant to represent virginity or purity or some shite? I'm neither of those, Johnny. Plus,  _you_ might look quite slimming in a white gown," Paul joked, reaching over to shove John. "Besides, why are you mentioning outfits and all?"  

"We want a proper ceremony, don't we?"   

"I don't know about that," Paul uneasily said, biting into his fingernail.   

"Okay, then just how were you expecting to go about it, Mr. Modesty?"  

"I thought that we might just, y'know, get it done at the courthouse."  

"That's it?  _Paul McCartney,_ my _Paul wants to keep it simple and boring_?"  

“I just don’t see why we’d want to be so open is all. You know they would react, John. People are cruel, do you really want that?” Paul caressed John’s arm, only for it to be yanked away.  

“I told you, Paul, I don’t care what they think. They can all screw themselves for all I care!” John shot back, not caring if he was too loud or not. It was then Paul's turn to raise his voice a little and fight back.  

“What about Sean, hm? Do you want  _him_ to be exposed to their hate?” Paul leaned closer to John, widening his eyes to emphasize his point.  

“Of course not!” John shouted, then lowered his voice to a softer tone. “Of course I don’t want that, but it will come eventually, no matter what. I’m not going to go on pretending what we have doesn’t exist, Paul. That you’ve just been bunking with me for  _five years_ for what? Writing songs I’m not a part of?” John threw his hands up, spreading his arms wide. Then, in just one shift, his voice became hoarse and pained. He lowered his arms to prop himself up as he slouched over. His head hung low under his shoulders as he  now looked up at Paul. “I won’t pretend for the rest of my life that I’m not who I am. That we aren’t what we are. I  _can’t._ ”   

“Johnny, I get it,” Paul mumbled, eyes stuck in the light colored carpet beneath them. “I don’t expect you to. I want to be able to make this all known, believe me. Just…not yet.” Paul interlaced his fingers, holding his hands tightly together like a schoolboy. “Please, at least consider my idea of the courthouse. It doesn't mean we have to hide, it just means that we won't be making a big show of it.”  

“Alright,” John gave in, “but I want to finally be out about this, all of it. No more hiding, we’re getting too old to play this game.” He sat back up, willing the other man to look him in the eyes. Paul did, but his eyes were in that unreadable state that Paul always resorted to when it came to these tough conversations.  

“I agree, Johnny. Only for a bit longer, I promise,” Paul coaxed, standing up, and moving to claim a new seat on John’s lap. A kiss was exchanged between them, it was quick and tight-lipped.  

“How much longer?” John border-lined whined, impatience lacing his words.  

“You’re beginning to sound like Sean, you know that?” Paul teased, playing with a button on John’s shirt.   

“Paul,” John said seriously, any hint of joking lost.   

“Not long, we’ll talk more when we  _both_ feel it’s time. I just want to make sure we don't say something at the wrong time and regret it is all. ” Arms wrapped around John's neck, a pair of lips followed with a light suckling against the skin. One hand, separated from John's neck, now rested on his jean-covered crotch. Nothing too hard, just light pressure was applied. Not that John could fully enjoy it.  Paul's words and promises echoed through his head,  banging all around.  _Not long. We'll talk about it later Soon.Soon, soon, soon._ That was what was starting to worry John. When would that be?  

"How about we move this to the bed?" Paul asked, biting his bottom lip with a flirty smile. John felt that same hand grab his own, leading it to Paul's waist, resting it there. He swallowed, forcing a grin of his own, light heat forming in his cheeks.   

"Alright, love." Paul jumped to his feet, the flirtatious twinkle still in his eye as he lead John to the bedroom. 


	2. Chapter 2

January 4, 1980   

The warm water from the shower head splashed and drizzled down Paul's body as he stood under it. He ran the bar of slippery soap across his skin, cleaning each spot very carefully. It had been so long since he went on television for an interview. Mainly because it was mostly the same question since he was living with John under the guise of "songwriting." That being if The Beatles will ever get back together, which Paul would inwardly roll his eyes at, and gave his usual answer of "no," or "perhaps one day, but not today." It was all very tedious, even for him, who put up with just about anything to keep the public happy. However, what made him stop doing interviews was more than that. The interviewers began to pry much more into his personal life ever since he and Linda split. Thought they would get a hold of dirty details that would bring viewers or readers in. They wanted  _stories_ to sell them, stories on how horrible Linda was, stories about a messy break-up, or stories about dirty little secrets between them. It was all a waste of breath because Paul would never give a single answer.    

The truth was that Paul still kept contact with Linda, and was still a good friend to her. Whenever Paul was having some sort of trouble, whether with John or outside forces, he gave her a call. In fact, he could see a call for Linda in the near future with the way his stomach churned and spun with how everything was beginning to unfold. John could be pushy, but at some points, he had a right to be. Paul couldn't help but feel that he was stringing John along at times, promising they would be out and open about their relationship, but never going through with it. It had to happen eventually, but what then? If the press and interviewers were relentless when he split with Linda, what would they be like then? Paul shuddered, a chill coming over him as he slicked his shampoo-covered fingers through his hair.   

He loved John, there was no doubt that the two were soul mates. It was only a matter of time before John would want more than just living together, and Paul didn't blame him. The older man just...didn't  _think_  sometimes. John had the tendency to jump into situations without considering consequences, it was just how he was, and the younger man would be lying if he said it wasn’t growing tiresome. It was the same formula of John getting himself into situations, Paul somehow became involved, they fight, and Paul forgives him. The same thing, like he’s on a nonstop merry-go-round that no longer had anyone controlling it.  

Paul pulled at the knots in his hair, threading through them with care. Dipping his head under the spraying water, he squeezed his eyes shut as soapy water streamed down his face, over his eyelids. When he was sure his hair was rid of any shampoo, Paul shut the water off and shook his head like a dog, damp groups of hair falling over his eyes before being pushed away. A towel was snatched from outside of the shower, and was immediately wrapped around his waist as he stepped out of the shower. Paul paused in front of the mirror above the sink, and wiped away the foggy condensation to see his own face. He sighed, fingers trailing along his cheek, under his eyelid, slightly pulling the skin downwards as he pushed himself closer to his reflection. Tracing along one of the wrinkles after, Paul looked downwards at the sink towards the ring that sat on the edge of it. Paul picked it up and held it between his fingers, turning the sapphire gem in the artificial, fluorescent lighting. Then, he dropped it into his palm, gripping it tightly in an enclosed fist before finally taking it and slipping it onto his finger.    

Paul emerged from the bathroom to find himself in an empty bedroom. A light blue button-up, dark grey slacks and jacket, and a black belt were laid out on the bed for him. The younger man smiled, grabbing a pair of briefs and socks to quickly dress. He took one last stop in the bathroom, a comb moving through his hair as he took one last look at himself. With a few last touch-ups and a playful wink to himself, Paul made his way to the living room. There, he saw John sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sean, who was currently submerged in a crayon drawing. Paul greeted them, crouching down beside Sean to see what he was doing.    

"What are you drawing, hon?" Paul asked, giving the boy a tap on the shoulder. Eagerly, he turned to Paul, putting down the crayon in his hands to present the drawing. Paul had a little trouble making out what it was exactly, with its marks and array of scribbles, but he gave his usual nod and word of approval and praise. "It looks very lovely."    

"It's Daddy!" Sean pointed out, poking the drawing. Upon further inspection, Paul did finally start to see a pair of eyes, a nose, and a smile. Even the scribbles that he thought to be spontaneous, did begin to look like John's auburn hair.   

"Working on his portraits," John said, snickering. "Soon we're gonna head onto the sidewalks and make some money."    

"No one will be able to resist such fine art." Paul pulled and adjusted his cuffs as he slipped on his jacket, with the help of his boyfriend, who stood and took to the back of him.    

"Have to leave now?" Paul nodded with a hum as a response. Reaching up to tug at his collar and push his hair back, Paul could feel John's eyes on his hand, making sure he had the ring on. "Well, we'll be watching," John mumbled, hands resting on Paul's shoulders. The younger man thanked him, turning to plant a kiss on his lips.   

"I'll be home late, you sure you'll be fine?" Paul asked, bending down to give a quick hug to Sean before continuing to the door. John followed behind, allowing Sean to continue coloring in his picture.    

"Yes, Paul, I haven't always lived under yer care, you know?" John answered dryly.   

"You know what I mean," Paul said, looking back to the older man. John took his left hand, his thumb rubbing against Paul's knuckles, then the ring.    

"I'm fine, Paul. I'll be sure to wait up for ye and save some take-out, alright?" Paul took his hand back, turning to the door.   

"Sounds fab," he replied as he stepped into the hall. Just as he was about to close the door, John stopped the man. With a confused and questioning look, Paul tilted his head.   

"Hey," John started, his voice quiet. Paul prepared for whatever was about to come. There was a weird silence before John continued. "How much you wanna bet they ask about The Beatles as soon as it starts?" Paul breathed a sigh of utmost relief prior to answering.    

"Come on, John, the man seemed to have a bit more of a brain over the phone than to ask that as his  _first_ question," Paul said with a chortle. "No, I think it'll be the  _third_ question at best."   

"We'll see, McCartney," John warned, waving his finger. "Don't forget to give a little wave to Sean, alright?" his fiancée added in a whisper.    

"I could never." The younger man checked his watch, giving a small jump. "I've got to go."   

“Paul,” John called his attention again just before he could leave.   

“Yes, John?” Paul asked, impatience evident.  

“You’ve got yer ring on.”  

“I know.”  

“And that’s alright?”   

Paul nodded. “If he asks me I’ll say I found a special someone who will not be named until a later date,” Paul explained through intentionally dainty little hand movements. John copied Paul’s little head nod, grinning, though it was not as genuine as it could be. The whole “later date” just seemed more along the lines of a tactic to keep John happy and unquestioning. John didn’t have it in his to bring it up, however, noticing just how much Paul was worked up over this interview. 

"Fred's outside waiting. I called him in advance." Paul mouthed a 'thank you,' rushing down the hall to the elevator.   

Outside of the apartment, as John promised, was Fred patiently waiting with the car. Paul waved him down, doing a mix of a jog and speed-walk to the opened door. He jumped into his seat, thoroughly apologizing for making the driver wait.    

"It’s no problem, Mr. McCartney,” Fred said with a wave as he went to his driver’s seat. The vehicle took off with little haste, blending in with every other car on the busy, congested street. Paul looked out the window to watch the passing buildings, then reached to the floor to pick up the telephone the men had installed. He held the receiver to his ear, balancing it on his shoulder while he dialed a familiar number. There was a dial tone, then a voice.   

"Hello?" a young woman's voice came in.  

"Hey, Linda."   

“Paul?” he could hear her voice question before shifting to a much happier tone. “How have you been? How are John and Sean?”   

“Good, good, er, I’m about to be on an interview again. I can give you the information so you can take part in the excitement.” Paul could hear her eye roll over the line as she deeply sighed. "Shall I take that as a no?"  

“I’ll tune in, Paul, don’t worry. I just hate when they try to make you squirm like they do,” Linda said as Paul hummed in response.    

“You think I do?” Paul retorted, looking back from the window, to the phone. “I’m just used to it now.” Linda didn’t respond, she only sat on the other line, knowing Paul had more to say. “John proposed,” Paul came out and said.   

“That's great, Paul," she congratulated. "Knew you never would, eh?” she light-heartedly jabbed right after.    

“Very funny,” Paul said, making a face even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, he decided that he didn’t want to wait much longer. Probably a thought that came to him months ago on his birthday." Paul quickly noted just how he said that, it carried a casual tone on  the surface, but it seemed to be weighted by almost one of disappointment. Like it was something he should feel upset about.  

"Ah, yes, the ripe, old age of thirty-nine," Linda drawled. "And what are you now? Fifty-five, right?" Paul gave a snort.  

"Did you plan on being like this the  _entire_ call?"   

"Well someone has to brighten the mood, you sound like John went and broke your legs." Paul's stomach dropped a little, he never meant for it to come across like that.  

"If you think I'm unhappy about this, you're wrong," Paul said, knowing just what she was thinking. "I said yes because I wanted to, no one pressured me."  

"Are you sure you didn’t pressure yourself?"  

"What?"  

"I don't know, Paul," Linda admitted. "Just, maybe you thought you had to say yes, is all. I don't mean to sound this way, but you are getting older, and people your age  _are_ usually settled down."  

"Are  _you_ settled down?" Paul asked, heat rising in his gut.   

"All I'm saying is-"  

" _Are you?_ " Nothing, not even an attempt to finish her sentence.   

"No, I'm not," Linda finally said. The heat began to fade into a cold mist as Paul realized what he was saying.  

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get that way. I'm just under a bit of stress from this whole thing." Paul rubbed at his forehead, the muscles in his head were ungodly tight. He thought his head could pop like a balloon at any moment.  

"He wants to go public about it doesn't he?" Linda spoke up out of the soon to come awkward silence.  

"Yeah," Paul replied. "I get why, he's never been one to hide himself like this. Always gets out one way or the other. But...I dunno." Paul absent-mindedly brushed his thumb along the tips of his fingernails, then scrutinized under them for dirt. "What am I gonna do when it comes to that time, Linda?"   

"I can't answer that, Paul, I'm not a mind-reader." Paul drew a shaky breath balancing the receiver on his shoulder as he picked at the dirt with his other hand. Suddenly he stopped to stare at the blue gem on his finger. "Are you still there?" Came Linda's now concerned voice.   

"I'm here," he shortly answered. When the vehicle came to a stop, Paul's eyes darted outside to see that they had arrived at the studio. "I have to go, but I'll call you later."  

"Good luck."  

"Just an interview, nothing I haven't done before."  

"That's not what I meant." With that, the line went dead. Paul reached to open the door, but paused to peer down at his finger again. A sigh escaped the younger man as he wriggled the silver band off of his finger, and held it in his palm. Checking around the car and outside, he stuffed the jewelry into his pocket, then stepped out.    

***   

"Sean, come on now, come sit with me," John instructed, lifting the boy from under his arms, and dropped him onto the couch. "Paul will be on any minute now, and we don't want to miss him, do we?" Sean shook his head, bouncing a few times on the cushion while excitedly watching the television screen. John took a seat next to him, also watching the screen with his own internal excitement and joy. The commercials ended, and they were brought back to an interviewer, his hair was short and dark, and he wore a nice, tan suit. He greeted the audience, shuffling some papers in his hand.  

 _"Tonight we're in for a real treat,"_  he began, putting the papers down and folding his hands.  _"Tonight we get a visit from everyone's favorite former "Cute Beatle," no not Ringo,"_  John rolled his eyes at the joke, while the audience seemed to take great humor from it, giving a good roar of a laugh.  _"No, tonight we welcome Paul McCartney, formerly of The Beatles and now Wings."_  The interviewer gestured to his right, and the camera followed the movement, stopping on the younger man.  

"Paul!" Sean shouted in a shrill voice, waving towards the camera. "Paul! Hi, Paul!" Then as if Paul could actually hear the screaming child, he turned to the camera with a wide grin, giving a small wave with his right hand, mouthing a “hello.” John study the man on television, his heart swelling at the sight of him back on the screen. Wildly, Sean giggled and jumped on the couch cushion, pointing to the younger man. “He waved, Daddy!” Sean yelled over whatever was being said in the interview.  

"Yes, I saw, Sean, settle down now before you fall," John said, tugging Sean back into his seat, urging him to quiet down. The little boy curled up next to John, his head on his lap with his knees drawn up. Resting his hand on Sean, John continued to watch his boyfriend. The man asked Paul the bare basic questions they all ask.  

 _“So you’ve got your new tour is coming?”_   

 _“Yeah, should be from June to November.”_   

 _“Any new album songs we should be expecting?”_   

 _“Perhaps a few that I’ve been working on.”_   

 _“Should we expect an appearance from John?” The audience cheered at the mention of his name, though it had little effect on the older man._   

 _“Possible, might be able to drag him up for a song,” Paul said, eliciting more noise from the audience. Paul gave a cheeky wink, then bit his lip that made John almost wish he were right there too._   

 _“How about Linda?”_   

 _“What about her?”_   

 _“Well, she’s still playing with you, correct?”_   

 _“Yeah.”_   

 _“Is there any…tenseness around her now?”_  the interviewer gestured around with his hands.   

 _“No, actually we’re still good friends.”_  

 _“Yes, but-”_  

 _“And I wish to speak no more of it.”_ John had to applaud at Paul sticking it back at him like that. It gave him delight whenever Paul, friendly, eager Paul, shut them down in his fashion.  

 _“So, Paul,”_  began the interviewer, leaning in,  _“you’ve been living with your friend and musical partner for six or so years?”_   

 _“Yes,”_  Paul nodded,  _“since 1974.”_    

 _“Alright, now I just have one question to get out of the way, if you don’t mind.”_  Paul gave another calm nod, but John could practically see him sweat as the camera went back to him. He visibly swallowed and involuntarily jerked a little. Every once in a while, some nosy journalist or interviewer would question the two living together, if they were a bit more than friends. Of course they were, but never did they say yes. That was one of the reasons John knew why Paul quit going to interviews.  

 _“Yeah, go on,”_  Paul urged, raising his eyebrows.   

“Don’t start sweating, Paul,” John said in a hushed voice. “Don’t let them get to you.”   

 _“Well,”_  the interviewer looked to the audience, then Paul, _“since you both have lived and written together so long, is it possible-“_   

 _“Possible what?”_  Paul interrupted, camera cutting back to him. His eyes nervously darted to the camera back to the interviewer as he began to nibble on his fingernail, only for him to jump and bring his hand back down. John didn't even notice the weird movement, too focused on Paul's nervousness. The interviewer was ignorant to it, however and continued his question, a half smile playing on his face.  

 _“Is it possible that there will be a Beatles reunion anytime?”_  John and Paul simultaneously relaxed and breathed again. John groaned with a hand on his head as Paul gave a somewhat knowing smirk to John through the camera lens.  

 _“Sorry, but it’s not looking likely,”_ he answered, shifting and adjusting his seating. There was then a shot of both Paul and the interviewer. John noted how Paul had his right hand over his left, almost covering it. He questioned himself whether or not that was intentional, the clear answer was yes. Paul was merely covering the ring on him to avoid questions, John reasoned, unable to tear his eyes away from the hands until it went back to individual chest and up shots. That was it, that had to be it.  

Who was he kidding? John was not stupid, he knew his boyfriend well enough by now. He sickly joked to himself that maybe Paul left it by the sink in the studio bathroom, but he didn't find himself laughing.  

The bright stage lights looked to nearly blind the younger man when he lifted his head, away from both the man and the crowd so intensely watching him. His hands remained on his lap, his right visibly grasping the fingers on his left. Tilting his head, Paul lifted his shoulders and slumped them.  

 _“Sorry, but John only helps with writing, he’s not big on performing, nor is he too interested in the whole ‘Beatle Image’ anymore.”_   

 _“And you, speaking on his behalf, are entirely sure?”_  he pried, much to Paul's hidden annoyance that only John seemed to see. These people never could take no for an answer.   

"Damn right he's sure!" John slapped a hand over his mouth as he realized Sean was still snuggled against him.  

 _"Yes, if he were here he'd give you the same answer."_   

 _"Perhaps you'd consider convincing John to come on the show to say, though?"_ The man asked, hopefulness in the sentence. Paul's eyes journeyed upward, a quizzical expression on his face while he hummed.   

" _Possible_ ,  _but_   _don't_  get  _excited_."  

“Come on, don’t tease these lovely people!” the man jokingly remarked, reaching over to tug at Paul’s arm. Doing so, Paul’s hand was pulled into the frame of the camera, confirming John’s thoughts. The audience found his little onslaught to be comical, but Paul’s face said the exact opposite as he desperately tried to free himself. 

 _“Well, I suppose I can try. I’m sure I can convince him to give you something to talk about,”_ Paul was heard adding in shortly after, trying to act like he was not upset as he hid his hand again. John wasn’t hurt at what he saw, at least not as hurt as one might think. He still understood the reasoning behind it, but it did not keep John from feeling something much different. Anger. Anger that Paul felt obligated to do so, and even anger towards Paul, as unreasonable as it was. Not only for the whole ring thing, but for volunteering him to be thrown into one of those ungodly interviews he vowed to stay away from since the 1970s.   

The little boy cuddled closer to John, laying his arms over John’s leg, sleeping soundly. Petting his dark hair, John gently combed his fingers through the strands, still watching the show through narrow slits. Paul’s words were in one ear, out the next, only his movements visible. It was noticeable that Paul looked to be extra careful to keep his hand out of view when he seemed to realize what he did. Too late now, Paulie, John bitterly thought. He lifted his hand that was curled into a fist, intently studying his own ring. Ripping it off, he held it tightly as he hit the other side of the couch. John thought to just throw the ring against the wall in a fit of anger. After all, give Paul what he wants, he told himself. However, he soon realized that that wasn’t what Paul wants, what Paul  _wants_ is for him to go on that show and dance around for them.   

“Well, fine,” John muttered, slipping the ring back on. “Fine, Paul, I’ll give them something to talk about.” With that, he flicked off the television, slamming the remote onto the table, then going to pick up Sean to take to bed. Deciding that he wouldn’t wait up for the man, John dressed for bed, and lied down. His arm snaked under the pillow, and eyes were glued to the dark wall to his side. John tried to will himself to sleep, but he could not do so. The cogs in his head still turning and turning with what he had planned.  

***  

Paul stepped off of the set, exhaling a long breath, puffing his cheeks as he did so. It all went a lot better than he expected, considering past interviewers were much worse. The man asked all of the questions Paul despised answering, but at least after putting his foot down the man backed off. Well, at some parts he did. The man hurriedly made his way up behind Paul, catching him before he could leave.    

“Mr. McCartney, were you serious about getting John on?’ he asked with childlike hopefulness.   

“I was,” Paul nodded, “but I also said don’t get excited. John’s not too big on interviews anymore, so it might not happen.” The interviewer’s face dropped a little. “But I’ll try.” The man nodded and grinned, shaking Paul’s hand. When he pulled his hand away, a piece of paper was left in Paul’s palm.  

“My number, call me and I’ll get you both on as soon as I can.” Paul agreed, wishing the man goodnight. Tiredly, Paul left the studio, doing his best to avoid being stopped once again by anyone else. To see the driver as a godsend was a bit of an understatement as he could have sworn he heard his name being called from somewhere. Whether it was a fan or staff, Paul had no intentions of stopping. He jumped into his seat, swiftly closing the door.  

“How’d it go?” Paul heard the driver question.   

“Good, nothing too bad.” Fred hummed to show he was listening. “They want John to come on now,” Paul said, reclining against the seat.   

“John? He hasn’t appeared anywhere for years, I thought he was avoiding all of that.” 

“Yeah, he is. I don’t know how I’ll make that happen, but I told the bloke I’d try.”   

“I guess if anyone can convince him it would be  _you_.” Paul reached into his pocket to retrieve the ring, guilt starting to fill him.  Casually, he put the ring back on and leaned his head against the cool window. He watched the buildings pass, along with people still out and about. Maybe it was that same guilt controlling him, but Paul couldn’t help but mainly take notice of the couples, holding hands or keeping close.   

“Yeah, I suppose.”   

When he entered the apartment, Paul was shocked to find that every light was already off, leaving him in pitch blackness. Feeling and waving his hands about, Paul finally found the lamp, and illuminated the room. John must have already gone to sleep, Paul concluded, making his way to their bedroom.   

The door squeaked open as Paul quietly entered the room. He could just make out the sleeping figure lying sideways on the bed. Tearing off his clothes until he was in nothing more than his boxers, the younger man dropped onto the soft bed, his body bouncing slightly. He did not realize just how tired he was until the incredible feeling of the bed hit him. The soft warmness that left him to cocooning under the thick duvet he shared with John. Paul brought the blanket up to his chin, inching closer to his slumbering boyfriend until he was close enough to feel John's breath on his face. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of pizza and cigarettes, but still reached over to bring his arm around John's neck.  

"Hello, dear," Paul mumbled, though John wouldn't hear. Or so he thought.  

"Hello," came the abrupt voice of John that caused Paul to yelp and almost leap out of bed. Paul sharply sat up, his shoulders up so high they could go past his head.  

"Scared me half to death." Paul gave the older man half a shove. John barely appeared bothered, casually shrugging.  

"Keeping ye on your toes, Macca," said John, poking Paul's thigh.   

"Yeah, yeah, let's see how you like it when I get back at you!" Paul forewarned, giving his own poke to John's thigh, or at least what he figured was his thigh covered by the duvet. Then, deciding that it was no longer worth it to keep up the act, the younger man collapsed once again.   

“Guess you did wait up after all?” Paul put his arm back over John, who did nothing to reciprocate.   

“Nah, just hard to sleep when you’re banging and messing about like a wild bull. Flopping all over the place.”   

“I wasn’t  _flopping._ I’d call it more of plopping,” Paul corrected. “So did you and Sean see me on the tele?” something then shifted. Was John tensing?   

“Yeah, we saw you,” John curtly said.   

“So then you already know what I’m about to ask you?”   

“To go buy more milk, right?” John sarcastically asked before becoming serious again. “Yeah, I know. You want me to go on that bloke’s show and give them something to talk about.” Without thinking, Paul jumped on appeasing the older man.  

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, love. I know how you feel about that stuff, I just thought-“  

“I’ll do it,” John interrupted, much to Paul’s unexpected surprise.  

“You will?” Paul asked just to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. John affirmed that that was not the case, repeating his answer. “Wow, uh, that’s a bit unexpected.”  

“Yeah, well, figured it couldn’t hurt.” John rolled onto his back, his hands on his stomach. Paul stayed still, only shifting his head up to see John’s face better. “What? Did you have a whole speech planned to convince me?” John asked, head turned to Paul. Strands of hair fell over John’s eyes, which made him rapidly blink a few times. The younger man couldn’t help but move the hair.  

“Maybe not a speech, just more about how this could be good for you.”   

John gave the man a scoff. “How so?”   

“Well, it’ll get you out again, back in the public eye,” Paul said, though his tone made it sound like it was more of a question than a statement. “Plus, I figured it could get you ready for when we, y’know, come out?”   

“Alright, Paul, you’ve passed the audition, I said I’d go.”   

“Great,” Paul said, kissing the tip of John’s nose. “I’ll be sure to give him a call tomorrow morning to let him know.”  

“Mmhm, now can we go to sleep?” John questioned, changing his position to have his back to Paul. The younger man wrapped himself around John, connecting the two.  

“Thanks for agreeing, love. I promise it won’t be so bad, could be fun,” Paul yawned, burying his face in John’s back.   

“I’m sure it will be,” John said in a murmur, followed by soft, steady breathing.  

The following morning, Paul made the call and was told they would be able to appear within a couple weeks. John claimed that that was perfect, once again pleasing the younger man with his surprising agreeableness. It wasn’t that he was aching to get back into interviews, even if John would be next to him cracking jokes at the expense of the interviewer. But with John’s want for marriage all of the sudden, Paul figured there had to be at least some reintroduction of John before they just come out with it. It all seemed like a good idea, as little as one interview would be, it was something more than what John had been doing for years. 

***  

January 25, 1980  

“Hurry up, Paul!” John called outside of the bedroom, tapping his foot. “Swear, I’d think you were a woman by how long it takes you to get ready.”  

“One second,” Paul answered, “some of us actually comb our hair!”   

“I comb it!” John called back.   

“Your  _fingers_ don’t count, love.” Paul poked his head out of the door. He had left the thin comb comically hanging on a clump of hair, which John felt the need to yank out, and he did just that. Swiping the comb, earning a small huff from his boyfriend, the older man stuffed the object into his pocket.  

“Are ye ready?”  

“Been ready, darling,” Paul drew out the last word, making a face as he emerged from the room. John reached his arm out, tugging Paul’s arm. “You’re pretty eager to go,” Paul suspiciously observed. “Any reason why?”  

John shrugged, playing it casual. “Guess it’s just been a while.”  

“Nearly ten years.”  

“Whatever. It just feels weird to do this again is all.” Tilting his head, Paul moved closer to John, taking his face with one hand. The younger man watched him quietly, and for a moment, John was sure Paul was onto him. Then, before he could panic, Paul swiped his tongue over his finger and wiped at whatever it was that was on John’s face. John faked a gag and pulled away.  

“No need to give me a tongue bath right now, mummy,” John said, wiping his cheek.  

“Fine, I’ll save it for later,” Paul promised, raising his dark eyebrows suggestively. John swore that just for a moment, he considered going back on everything, to allow it to slide away for now. Was it to avoid Paul’s wrath that would without a doubt come or was it just his libido talking? He was ashamed to answer that he couldn’t exactly tell. Though, there was something in him that was much stronger than either of those things; his need to finally love his boyfriend outside of their home. Was he overreacting? Possibly, but John would argue to the end of time that he’s waited long enough. Paul with his empty promise of “soon,” was all well and good for an optimist thought, but what good is a promise that is bound to be broken. The reality was that Paul always teased this “soon,” to put off the inevitable and uncomfortable. The man would not even wear his ring or let his son call him “dad.” As usual, John saw this as  _his_ responsibility to take care of, and he would not wait much longer.  

Yoko stood at the door next to Sean, holding his hand. Yoko mostly kept her eyes on John as they both thanked her for agreeing to watch Sean. The older man had the feeling that he would hear about that from Paul in the car. The couple squatted down to each give their son a kiss before leaving the apartment.   

“We’ll be home a little late, hope that’s alright,” said Paul.  

“That’ll be fine,” Yoko answered, smiling down at Sean, then peering at John. “Perhaps you’ll behave yourself?” John swallowed, he swore that woman could look straight into his mind, knowing exactly what he planned.   

“Johnny always is,” Paul cut in, ruffling his hair. “Even if he refuses to comb his hair like a normal person.”  

“Yeah, yeah, turning into Mimi, you are,” John said, waving the hand off. His one foot was already mostly out the door by now, he was getting  _too_ antsy about this all now. “Anyways…” John cleared his throat, motioning his head to the door.   

“Alright, Johnny,” Paul coaxed, following the other man out. “Practically going mental over this, huh?”   

“You haven’t the slightest idea,” John chuckled as they rushed to the elevator.   
 

*** 

The two stood backstage, awaiting their cue to come on. John slightly leaned out, just enough to not be spotted, and observed the crowd. Did they know they were coming? Standing back, John returned to Paul's side, catching a glimpse of him playing with his ring. He was twisting and pulling at it, pulling it up and pushing it back on. 

"Deciding whether or not to hide it?" John quipped, pulling Paul out of his trance. 

"Just dazed," Paul asserted, hands falling to his sides. "Not everything is a plot to attack you, y'know."  

"I wasn't saying it was, son," John retorted, faintly hearing the cue of their names being called. "Only making an observation." 

"Maybe you observe too much. That's us, come on," Paul said, dodging the subject and putting on one of the fakest smiles John has ever seen. John copied him with a quick wave to the people as they sat in their assigned chairs.  

John had to smirk towards the interviewer, sitting across from the two, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. His eyes bulging, and his face was stunned, unable to comprehend what was happening. Though, every now and then, he would swipe his forehead and smooth his hair back, acting like nothing was wrong. John had trouble believing he still had this effect on people.   

"It's great to have you on, John," he greeted with a smile. John nodded, and gave another wave. "Paul told us you may come on, but he said you don't exactly give in easy to these." 

"For once, I was pleasantly wrong," Paul interjected, adjusting his seating. "Said yes right away, he did." 

"Yeah, well, it's been a few years," John shrugged, turning his head to Paul. He peered up and down his seemingly stiff form, stopping at his hands. One hand rested in his lap, the other shoved deep in his pocket, trying to appear as a casual gesture. Of course it was his left hand. John, realizing he had trailed off, cleared his throat and looked back to the interviewer. "And I've certainly got to give you  _something_ to talk about. Ain't that right, Paulie?" 

"Er- I guess, John...?" John watched with sick satisfaction as Paul's fake smile began to wane.  

"Oh, and before you ask,  _no,_ there will be no Beatles reunion. Straight from the authentic Lennon mouth itself." The audience apparently found some comedy in that, and laughter accompanied his words. 

"Uh, erm, alright," the man said with a nervous smile and pinkening face. Paul, still keeping his fingers hidden in his pocket, leaned over to elbow John, playing it off like he was laughing as well. "Well, then let's get on to a few more questions, alright?" Waving his hand, John silently told him to continue. 

"No Beatles, I understand that," the man began, "but have you got anything new planned to release, Mr. Lennon?"  

"No, haven't thought much about it. I've got a few songs bumping around, but I'm usually just helping Paulie out." John looked over again, Paul was beginning to narrow his eyes, brain visibly working to pick apart everything John said. John raised his eyebrows to him, putting on an innocent face.  

“You go on tour with Paul too, correct?” 

“Yeah, I go for about a month and help behind the stage when I can.”  

“Yes, he’s quite a good help when he wants to be,” Paul cut in. 

"You've gotten close again since the seventies," observed the interviewer. "Have either of you considered leaving that apartment?” 

“For what?” John, pretending to be stupid, asked. 

“Well, to find a woman to settle down with. Have either of you thought of that?”  

“I-uh,” Paul said, “there’s definitely that option, but I personally haven’t found anyone for the time. I’m not very interested in settling down at the moment.” John’s head snapped to Paul, he knew what he was doing. Trying to put up a new barrier to more conspicuous, that didn’t mean it didn’t tear something in John to hear Paul say it. 

“How about you, Mr. Lennon?”  

“What?”  

“Have you found a new girlfriend, or are you still with Yoko?” the interviewer asked.  

“Neither.” There was more laughter from John’s blunt and short answer.  

“But I see you’re wearing that ring on your left hand. You must be engaged, correct?” 

“I am,” John answered, he could practically feel Paul’s eyes burning through him.  

“Excuse me, Mr. Lennon?” 

“I am engaged.” The audience either laughed or “oohed,” torn to figure out if John was joking or not.  

“Well,” the interviewer gave a breathy chuckle, “who’s the lucky lady?” 

“Paul.” Christ, that was it, in just one breath their biggest secret was finally out there. Though, it didn’t feel like it, since both the interviewer and audience assumed it was John being facetious. They all laughed and howled, like it was so hilarious that John could be engaged to the man he’s been living with for years. John was not laughing, and Paul  _certainly_ was not either. When John glanced at Paul again, the younger man looked as though he were about to faint. He was gripping the arm of the chair with his one hand, his knuckles turning snow white.  

“I’m serious,” John added as the laughter died down.  

“So am I,” the interviewer said, wiping his eye. “Now who are you actually marrying?” 

“I told ye Paul.”  

“ _John,_ ” the younger, flustered man choked out from John’s side. He cleared his throat, looking to be trying to keep composure, rather than reach over and strangle John. “Stop fooling around, will you?” Paul even threw in a fake giggle, just to steer it away.  

“Why don’t you stop fooling around,” John snapped, reaching over to grab Paul’s arm, “and show them all  _your_ ring?” He was yanking at Paul’s arm, trying to pull his hand out of his pocket. The audience was no longer sure if they should laugh, and the interviewer was shifting his eyes between the cameraman and the two men. Finally, the older man was able to pull Paul’s hand out, presenting the ring like he found lost treasure.  

“Is this the answer you wanted?” John waved Paul’s hand around to both the audience and the man. The audience went quiet, beginning to realize that John was in fact serious about all of it. The interviewer’s face had to be the best part, though. If John thought the man’s eyes were bulging before, they were almost falling out now. Paul was clearly too stunned to pull his hand away, or try to brush this all off as an elaborate joke.  

“I-I-“ the interviewer sputtered.  

“It’s no joke, we plan on marrying this year,” John stated, leaning forward. He looked  _again_ to see Paul’s face, but he wasn’t met with that. Only the younger man rising from his chair to run off the stage. The interview was making a cutting gesture to the camera man, alerting the audience that they would be going on commercial break. The audience was just blank now, like a bunch of zombies staring straight at John. It wasn't unsettling, it was  _chilling._  John swiftly followed the younger man shortly after.  

John found Paul just outside the backstage entrance feverishly smoking a cigarette. The younger man must have known John was there the second he walked outside as he threw it on the ground, crushed it with his foot, and continued towards their car without another word.  

“Paul!” John called, following him. Paul didn’t even turn. 

“That was faster than last time,” Fred commented as the two men approached him. Paul grunted and threw open the door, promptly sitting down with his arms and legs crossed. Concerned, Fred glanced towards John who could only shake his head.  

“Yeah, it was cut short…” John mumbled.  

Saying the ride home was uncomfortable would be the largest understatement, it was ungodly miserable. Paul just sat there in silence, looking out the window with a stone face. He would not even answer Fred when he tried to ask if he was feeling alright, he would only grunt. John thought he would feel better after that, he wasn't sure what, but not this. It was not usual for him to be such an optimist, but he expected it to go better than that. Of course not undying cheers and happy wishes, but fuck, not that thick silence shortly after roaring laughter. Even with that, he was so angry with Paul, wanted to get back for all his talk, but not even that was satisfied. He was so relieved to see the apartment, jumping out and going inside, Paul hurrying and stomping ahead.  

Speed-walking through the apartment, Paul searched and scoured each room. John thought to ask what he was doing, but assumed he wouldn't get much of an answer. Paul stood on the other side of the living room of John, who was just outside of the kitchen. John almost wanted to ask if this meant it was a no on the promised tongue bath, but knew that would only prod at Paul's anger more. 

"Where's Sean and Yoko?" Paul asked in a eerily calm voice, it actually made the older man jump. 

"I gave left money for her to take him to dinner. Must still be out, it is only nine-thirty." Paul nodded, kicking some invisible dirt, face completely unreadable though John knew what was lurking just underneath the mask.  

"Okay." 

"Okay? Is that all you have to say?" John pressed.  

"Well what the  _fuck_ do you want me to say?!" The younger man snapped his attention to John, eyes glassy and looking much more bloodshot. Paul's mood and tone shifted entirely just in one breath, a snarl beginning to form. He aggressively swaggered to John, grabbing the collar of his shirt. He held the fabric so tightly, John was sure he would have choked if the top button was unbuttoned. "How about: JUST WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" Paul screamed, shaking the older man. John grimaced as Paul held his collar tighter with his quivering fists. 

"I don't know!" John yelled back, pushing Paul off of him, causing him to stumble back a few steps.  

"Oh!" Paul chuckled, pressing his fingers into his scalp. "You don't  _know!_ You have no  _clue_ as to what made you tell, on live television, our biggest secret without even telling ME! Well then I guess that excuses everything, yeah?! I’ll call up the studio and assure them that John didn’t know what he was doing, just cut everything!"  

"Oh, like you don't have a clue why I did that!"  

"No, John, I don't! I don't know why my boyfriend would go and do that after we talked about doing it when we were  _both_ ready!" 

"Wait, I'm yer boyfriend?!" John feigned surprise, hand on his chest. "I thought you weren't interested in settling down!" 

"Oh, don't you dare use what I said on t.v. against me," the younger man warned, jabbing his finger at John. "You knew I couldn't say anything else. You  _knew_ I couldn't just wave my hand and say, 'Hey, guys, me and  _John Lennon,_ another  _man,_ are tying the knot!' And I suppose I should also go into detail on our sex life while I’m at it, right?" Paul loudly exhaled, shaking his head. "You've really done it now, Lennon, fucking hell you have." Paul made his way to the couch, dropping onto it with his hands over his eyes. 

"I saw you without your ring last time," John blurted out. 

"What?" Paul raised his head. 

"On that interview, don't think I didn't see you without the ring, I saw. I saw everytime we left this place how you'd either sneak it into your pocket, or keep your hand hidden." Paul watched him with wide-eyes, his bottom lip hanging open. 

"Is that what this was all about…?” Paul asked in disbelief and exasperation.  “Okay, and, John?!” Paul’s hands stretched out, fingers still quivering with rage. “I did that to protect us, not because I wanted to spite you." 

"What are ye talking about?" 

"John, do you think we can just prance about out there holding hands?! What if someone hurts us? What if someone hurts Sean?!" Paul lowered his head again, hands now clasped onto his cheeks. "Oh, God, Sean. What if someone tries to go after him? What if they take Sean away from us when word gets spread?" His voice became weaker as he watched the floor. John rarely saw Paul this way, broken and close to tears.  

“Hey, hey,” John whispered, sitting down next to Paul, who didn’t make a move to slide away. He only brought a fingernail to his teeth, knawing on it like a mouse. Wrapping his arms around the younger man, John gently held him and cooed like a mother. “Shh, listen, love, we’re going to be fine.” 

“How do you know, John?” Paul questioned, removing his arms.  

“Look, I’ll-I’ll keep a closer eye on Sean, yeah? I’ll be around him even more, hell, I’ll take him everywhere I go, even on our dates if that’s what you want. Plus, Paul, you know that if anyone puts a hand on him, you know we’ll both fucking kill them.” Paul still kept his upset expression, fingers lacing through the knots of his hair. 

“What if they don’t think we’re fit parents when they find out the truth about Sean?” 

“Don’t be daft, we haven’t done him wrong a single time.” 

“John, we’re both men, there’s no mother, what if they use that to take him?”  

“First of all, you’re as close to a mother than any woman,” John said, still keeping his distance from Paul now, his hands folded on his lap. 

“Why am I the mother?” Paul snorted, a smile finally cracking on those lips. 

“’Cause you’re the prettier one.”  

“Tosser,” Paul said, punching John’s arm. “You’re the one with the longer hair between us, and wider hips.” 

“Touché, but is my hair long compared to your eyelashes?” John quipped. 

“You must think you’re so clever using that remark for what the…” Paul trailed off, pretending to count the air. “At least 80th time?” Paul suggested playfully. The light mood had not lasted much longer, the heaviness of their reality crashing back into existence. Paul was somber once more, his face falling. Color ran from the younger man, leaving behind a paleness resembling one of the dead. A black hole opened inside of John, sucking on his insides as he viewed the sight of his boyfriend. 

“Nothing will happen to us or Sean, Paul,” he felt the need to say. “This isn’t how it used to be. This ain’t the sixties anymore.” John wriggled around his fingers as he continued. “What we’re doing is entirely legal, and there’s nothing that will change that or stop us.” 

“Just because it’s legal doesn’t mean people changed on the dot,” Paul said, playing with the silver band and biting his lip. 

“Paul, we’ll be alright. If anyone fucks with us, we have all those fans and connections-“ 

“And if both of those things turn against us?” Paul queried, going serious again. “What if all of those fans and connections to whatever decide that they don’t wanna support a couple of-of queers?” 

“Well, then we have us.” 

“That’s it, I need to go throw-up,” Paul said, doubling over, holding his stomach. “I told you that soppiness would get me sick.” 

“I get it from you, I hope you know,” John pointed out, feeling brave enough to scooch a little closer. Paul didn’t move away, but he didn’t move closer either.  

“With our soppiness combined, Sean’s gonna be a nightmare,” Paul mumbled.  

“I’ll start the nightly prayers now for whoever he gets close to in the future.” John laughed and clasped his hands together, bowing his head. His heart jumped when Paul began to chortle along.  

“Y’know,” said the younger man as he rubbed his eye, “this doesn’t mean I’m not still angry.” 

“I know, Paulie.” 

“But,” Paul drew in a breath, his shoulders rising, “suppose there’s no changing it now. We’ll just have to face it. After all, it had to happen sometime.” 

“Are you alright with that?”  

“I don’t know, John, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Paul pushed off of the cushions, moving on to the direction of the bedrooms.  

“Paul,” John said, tagging along behind. “Paulie.” He took the younger man’s arm, gently squeezing it, begging for something from the other man.  

“I’m fine, Johnny, really,” Paul assured. “I just need to get some sleep, alright?”  

“Do you want me to join you?”  

“Someone’s got to be awake for Sean and Yoko.” With a press of lips to John’s cheek, Paul wished him goodnight before continuing to their room. The kiss felt anything but genuine, stiff and quick, and Paul looked like he was in such a rush to get away. John wanted to feel sorry for himself, but what excuse did he have? He let his own emotions get the better of him, and now Paul and Sean were dragged into it.  

“No,” John muttered to himself. “It can’t be as bad as it looks. We’re not Beatles anymore, and they might just think I was joking.” It was all just something he told himself out loud to make himself feel better. Someone had to do it if Paul would barely talk to John. 

By ten Yoko arrived home with Sean, apologizing for being so late. John told her it was perfectly fine, and lied that the show was cut short due to technical difficulties. Yoko, lucky for John, had no interest in questioning for details, only dropping Sean off. 

“Are you feeling alright, John?” she asked, noticing the mildly distressed look he must have had so obviously on his face.  

“I’m fine, Yoko, just tired.” 

“Where’s Paul?” 

“He’s gone to sleep,” John informed, sticking his thumb out behind him. “Poor lad could barely stand, falling all over the place.” John imitated an exhausted man, slumping and waving his body all over, bringing out a giggle from Sean. The older man stopped his little impression, bending over to pick Sean up. The boy yawned and hugged his neck tightly, already falling asleep in his arms. Tears threatened to form, but John quickly blinked them away, blaming it on his need to get to sleep. Yoko understood and took her leave, but not before wandering her eyes up and down the man while leaving.  

Carefully, John bounced Sean a little to adjust his hold on him. The boy was still peacefully asleep, slightly beginning to drool on his neck.  

“Okay, love, I get it,” John whispered low enough to not wake Sean up. “I’m taking you to bed now." 

As John placed him down and tucked him in, he thought back to what Paul said. How they could try going after Sean, or worse, actually getting to take Sean away from them. That couldn’t happen, it couldn’t. Right?  

“Christ,” John said in a low voice, the previous tears coming back again. This time, John didn’t do anything to stop them. No blinking or wiping away, even as he pressed his lips to Sean’s forehead right before releasing a shuddering breath. That was when he felt the hot tears prick at his eyes. He stood up, and the droplets formed small pathways down his face, and dripped to the floor. John let them, more focused on controlling his composure. He clenched his jaw and fists, leaving the room, and stopping at the door of his and Paul’s bedroom. For the first time, nothing in John made him want to go in there. He only could bring himself to stand there with his hand against the door, like he was about to push it open. The few tears he let fall were finally gone, leaving behind drying trails on his face and bleary vision. Lifting his glasses and wiping under his eye, John moved away from the bedroom for the couch.  

Seating himself down, his hands gripped his knees. The older man’s fingers rubbed against the fabric of his pants. He saw no reason to change out of his clothes, already situated on the cushions. That, and he didn’t want to wake up his boyfriend, though there was certainly doubt that he was even asleep yet. Or did he just not want to be in the same room as him.  

John’s eyelids tugged and weighed themselves downward, one or two more droplets squeezing out. Letting his head fall back against the couch, John now understood how mentally and physically exhausted he was. He felt no urge to bring his legs onto the couch, or lie horizontally on his side. The older man decided he would remain in his sitting position, the only comfort being his arm on the armrest, and his head now propped against it. The room faded from him to a welcomed darkened bliss he hoped for, and something in John said that he would be getting more sleep than Paul tonight.  

Though, that’s not saying much since over the course of the night, John woke up multiple times. Each time he drifted off, there was no blissful emptiness, but something else. It was the studio, he was back on the stage, staring up at the blank faces of the audience. But it was not entirely blank, somehow John could make out what could be mild anger in them, like they were about to jump from their seats and attack him. John woke up each time shivering, until deciding that sleep was just not worth it, and switched the television on. 

 _“Footage given to us by a local channel shows how John Lennon, former Beatle, claims to be marrying writing partner, Paul McCartney during an interview,”_ a woman announced, looking much too young to even know who The Beatles were as it cut to the interview itself. John saw himself, grabbing Paul and forcing him to show off his ring. He must have looked like a madman to any outside reporter watching it. John swore under his breath, propping his elbows on his knees. Oh, how word got around in New York City, John thought, allowing the report to play for some masochistic reason. He began to wonder how hard it would be to make sure Paul stays far away from television, or media in general, for at least a year. An older man, maybe only a year or so younger than John, now appeared beside her. 

 _“Now, that is something,”_  he began with a chuckle, _“but I’ve been listening to The Beatles since they came to America, I remember how crazy they made my younger sister. They’ve had girlfriends for God’s sake.”_ He began waving his finger all around.  _“Personally, I think it’s all a stunt for attention.”_ That got John to watch the screen with much more intensity. He almost yelled at the screen, but stopped himself when he realized it was too late at night for that. So, he grit his teeth, still refusing to turn it off.  

 _“The man has been out of work for years, he probably wanted to become relevant again by sparking more controversy. I remember when he was doing those peace protests, or even that bigger than Jesus thing. I think it’s just all a cry for attention, for relevance,”_ he reiterated.  

“You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be relevant if it bit yer arse!” John swore forgetting where he was. Biting his tongue, John made a grab for the remote, and shut the television off. Instead of that, John turned his head to the window, catching the glimpse of exterior lights of buildings. For once, he paid attention to the sounds of the blaring horns and cars down below, things he would never have paid attention to before. It would seem that  _that_ was a much better solution than television. Hell, a blank wall would be better. It didn’t help John fall asleep without picturing that stage again, but it did help him empty his mind of everything as he blankly looked at the window. That was all he could ask for at the time. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm super excited because I'm about over 9,000 words into the last part. So it won't be long until it's up, and thankfully the Big Bang deadline has been extended too!  
> ALSO, I should warn that there is the use of homophobic slurs later on, and the angst is beginning to show

January 25, 1980 

A shrill ring from the phone yanked Paul out of his sleep. Thinking to let it ring, Paul put his face into the warm pillow, but the phone persisted in getting his attention. With a groan, the younger man forced his crusted eyes to open, the pressure of a headache to present and clear. He actually could not remember why he felt like this for a moment, his memory of the night before practically wiped from only getting around three hours of sleep. However, as he sat up to answer the phone, he was greeted with an old friend's voice that quickly reminded him. 

"Paul?" came George's voice. 

"George?" Paul answered, leaning over to check the clock by the bed. "It's six in the morning over here, what did you want?" 

"I-I heard about what happened, with John," he said, bringing back everything Paul wished he could forget happened last night on that interview. The reveal, the embarrassment, and then the fight shortly after. The younger man's stomach tightened and turned to ice, he felt like he might actually throw up right there. The overwhelming emotions coming back like a speeding train hitting him head-on.  

"Yeah?" was all he could muster, his tongue double its size. 

"Are you okay?" Paul almost wanted to snap at the man on the other line for such a ridiculous question. Without even being considered, his boyfriend told a whole damn audience that they were getting married. He almost wanted to ask how the hell George would feel if that happened, but held himself back.  

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I'm guessing word already got out." 

"Like wildfire, how could you expect it not to spread?" George replied, sounding regretful for being so blunt as the words hit Paul's ears.  

"I haven't checked the television or paper," Paul said, deeply sighing as his free hand pressed into the other side of the mattress where John would normally be. It was no surprise that the older man had avoided coming to bed last night, what with the way Paul left him. 

"Are you still doing it?"  

"Doing what?" 

"Getting married," George said. "Are you two still going through with it?" Scratching at his head, then the side of his nose, Paul could not find the answer to give him at first. 

"It's all out there now. What else is there to do?" Paul's voice became monotonous and heavy, a yawn following. All he wanted to do at the time was go back under the covers and sleep, which was very unlikely for him. To just turn away from the world and hide under his blanket, and just stay there for as long as possible.  

"Why didn't you tell me? Have you even told Ritchie?" George asked, hurt that he had to find out this way.  

"It was all very sudden," Paul reasoned, "I didn't know how I would tell you. To be honest, I still cannot believe it happened at all. Plus, we're not having a celebration, I just opted to go to the courthouse." 

"Are you also gonna become Sean's legal father?" 

"I don't know." 

"You're starting to sound like a broken record, mate. It's not a hard question," said George. "You're already marrying the man, why wouldn't you want that too?" 

"It's not that I don't want that," Paul protested, a hand to his head as a wave of pain went through him. "I just don't know if it'll go through. I mean, what if I'm denied guardianship 'cause we're both men?" 

"They can't do that, can they?" 

"I don't know." 

"Do you   _know_ anything?" George half joked, but Paul didn't have it in him to laugh.  

"Look, George, this is really a bad time." 

"No shit, but I'm your friend. I'm supposed to be there during bad times," George quickly retorted, his voice softening after. "Do you want me to come over there? I can book a flight to come visit." 

"That's alright, George," Paul assured. "I appreciate it, but I think it's best that John and I sort things out on our own for now." Then there was silence. 

"Paul, no offense, but I really don't think that's a good idea. You shouldn't be so quick to turn away your friends." 

"George, if I wanted a lecture I'd get a ouija board and summon Brian," Paul harshly answered, rubbing his forehead. 

"I just think it would be better for both of you if-" 

"I don't need you to tell me what you think is better for us. I may not even know what's best, but I think I can handle it, yeah?" he snapped. Another round of silence, this time followed by a quiet "okay" from the other end.  

“I’ve got to go, George.”  

“Paul, please call me if you need anything,” George pleaded. “Don’t do that shit you do where you try to take everything on by yourself.” 

“I will, Georgie, good bye.” With those last words, Paul placed the phone onto the hook. He swallowed thickly as he felt around the empty space next to him again, his mind and thoughts feeling miles away while his hand pressed into the mattress. 

 Another ring almost sent Paul jumping from the bed in an unexpected surprise. When he realized it was only the phone, he assumed George had yet another talking to he didn’t get to mention in their last call. Swiping the phone again, the young man bared his teeth as he answered. 

“Yeah??” he growled and awaited the expected voice of his friend.  

“…Uncle Paul?” a teenage tentatively asked on the other line. Paul deflated, his current annoyance fading. 

“Julian?” Paul questioned, then groaned. “Let me guess, you’ve heard the news too?”  

“Is my dad there?” was Julian’s only answer to Paul’s half rhetorical question. 

"He's asleep," Paul answered, not even sure where John  _was_ to actually know. "Jules, listen, what you heard," he paused. "What did you hear?" 

"I just want to talk to my dad right now, Uncle Paul." 

"I told you he's asleep, I'll have him call you back later." 

"Can't you just wake him up?" Paul pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes. He was without a doubt John's son, their stubbornness a complete match to rival any others.  

"Jules, I know this must all be quite the shock, and I'm sorry you had to find out like this." 

"How else would I have found out?! You two hadn't even told my mom! Would you or Dad actually have told me?" Paul could hear the malice in Julian's voice from here.  

"Of course we would have," Paul said, his heart breaking a little. "We just weren't sure how." 

"I don't care that you and my dad are together, Paul. I just wish I...I don't know...could've known. He's  _my_ dad, Paul, not just Sean's." If Paul's heart was already broken, it was now shattered. There was such genuine pain in Julian's tone, it almost hurt to hear. Paul always cared for Julian, ever since he was born, and knowing how deeply he hurt him through one simple action was terrible. The ice in his stomach now turned to a boil, his mind going to John as the blame for it. It was  _John_  who went to public with it, it was  _John_ who blabbed before they could even tell someone as close as Julian, it was all  _John._  

"I know, Jules, I'm sorry. Look, I'll have your dad call you later, and you can talk to him then, alright?" Paul waited for any form of response or confirmation, but could only make out light breathing. Then there was nothing but the sound of the other end being hung up. There was no time to dwell on it though, the door cracking open to reveal the small boy on the other side.   

“Hey, sweetheart,” Paul greeted, gesturing for Sean to come in. Once he was close enough, Paul picked him up and placed him on his lap. “Why are you up so early?” Sean shrugged, leaning against Paul’s chest. “Did you have a bad dream?” Again, Sean refused to actually give Paul an answer. He then lifted himself up from Paul’s chest, eyes scanning the room. 

“Where’s Daddy?” he asked, bewildered, and what looked to be almost fear, that his parents were not both in bed still.  

“He went to watch a little tele, hon,” Paul lied. 

“Oh.” Sean went back to his former spot against Paul. His little hands held onto Paul like a lifeline, and Paul swore he was shivering. There was definitely something wrong.  

“Was Daddy in your dream?” Pressing his face into Paul’s chest, Sean quietly sniffled. Paul held him closer, rubbing his back, and hushing him. Tenderly, the young man questioned what had happened in the dream.  

“Daddy was gone.” Paul’s brow furrowed, forming confused lines on his forehead. 

“Gone?” Sean nodded, his hold tighter with another sniff following, causing Paul to quickly jump to comforting the boy. “Come on, love, don’t worry. Daddy’s not gone, he’s right out there. Do you want to go see him?” Wordlessly, Sean nodded again. “Alright.” Paul stretched his neck out so Sean was able to wrap his arms around him as he was carried out. He reluctantly took to the door, internally cringing at the thought of having to look the older man in the eyes.  

In the living room, Paul found John on the couch, his cheek against his hand being the only thing holding his head up. With an intake of breath, Paul stood in front of his boyfriend, observing as parts of the top row of his teeth were revealed as his upper lip was pulled with the skin of his cheek. Paul didn’t let Sean see, but allowed himself to curl his upper lip in silent annoyance and irritation before giving a cough. 

“Erm, John?” he said, lightly kicking the older man’s leg. He stirred and mumbled something inconceivable, shutting his eyes tighter, making the bags and wrinkles extremely noticeable. “John?” he cleared his throat and said it much more sternly, another kick that finally got his attention.  

“What…?” John finally awoke, squinting his eyes and trying to adjust to being brought back to reality.  

“Sean wants you, love,” he answered, tilting his head to the boy, letting him down. Quickly, Sean climbed onto the couch, and clung to John.  

“What’s wrong?” Paul couldn’t tell whether John was asking him or Sean, but chose to answer anyway. 

“He had a bad dream and he wanted to see  _you_.” Was that bitterness in his voice? Or even jealousy? Paul mentally scoffed. Jealous of what? For not being the center of their child’s nightmare? Well, maybe so. After all, he was Sean’s father too, right? Even without a special title for Sean to use, Paul  _was_ still his father. He had an equal hand in taking care of him, but it was John who got the most affection. Narrowing his eyes towards the other man as he held their child close, he began to realize how ridiculous he sounded. He made it sound like Sean was their parent, and he and John were just competing for attention. Except John didn’t need to compete. Paul began to tune John back in. 

“There’s a lad,” John was saying in a hushed voice to Sean, slightly bouncing him on his lap. His thumb was brushing over the boy’s face, probably to wipe a tear. “Want some brekky?” Sean nodded, raising his own hand to his eye. 

“I’ll make it today,” Paul blurted out, turning on his heel to go to the kitchen. 

“You sure?” 

“I think I’ll be alright making eggs, John.” Without even turning, Paul could feel the older man with Sean rise from the couch, and follow him.  

Once breakfast was ready, like everyday, the three were seated at the table. But the air was much different, the tension between John and Paul trying to hide away, but could not.  

“I’ll be doing a few new recordings today,” Paul said, his fork moving the slimy yolks of the eggs around the plate. “For the new album and all.”  

“Want me to go with you?” 

“No.” Paul shot his head up urgently, dropping his fork in the progress. Both John and Sean were startled by his sudden answer. Looking between the two, the younger man let his face go loose, trying to play it off like it was nothing. "That's fine, John, I've actually got all I need written up for now. Plus, it may be best for you to stay inside," Paul just realized how that sounded as he spoke. "For Sean, of course." 

"Maybe Sean would like to come too? He could meet the whole group, hasn't Linda been asking about him?" John suggested. "Wouldn't that be fun to watch Paul work?" John turned his attention to Sean who was only half paying attention, but nodded anyways. 

"John, no, Sean can't come," Paul said just as Sean looked up at him with his brown eyes that became sadder at the rejection from him. His hand was laid on the back of their child's back, guilt panging in his heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, dear. It's just going to be so busy and hectic." 

"Ah, but, Paulie," John interjected, index finger in the air like he's debating on a podium. "You've talked about Sean coming on tour, don't you think this would be a good way to introduce him to that?" 

"I-no-John-," Paul stuttered, not knowing how to start a single sentence. He could already picture the disaster. Paul already had reporters trying to stop him outside the studio, now how many would there be? There could be a whole group, waiting there already like a group of vultures. Even worse, there could be angry fans and god knows who else that could be utterly enraged with the news. Paul was starting to become short of breath when Sean began to protest. 

"I wanna go," Sean said with a mouthful of eggs.  

"Sean, love, I really don't know if you'd want to. I mean, I'll have to work, I couldn't watch you." 

"Uhm, yeah, that's where I come in, Macca," John reminded, finger now turned to himself. Of course John would expect to go too. 

"Well, then we might as well just invite Yoko, and George, and,” Paul jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, “should I give Ritchie a ring too??"  

"Uncle George and Ritch are coming?" Sean questioned with a bright face. 

"N-no, no, no one's coming," Paul asserted.  

"Why not?" Sean whined, throwing his fork on the plate. 

"Hon, please, it's not that I don't want you coming, I just really need to focus. It's my first day back, and I need to work."  

"But, please, Paul? I'll be good!"  

"Paul's made up his mind, son." The young boy began to pout, lowering his head. "Hey, don't worry, it can just be us today. That'll be fun, yeah?"  Sean shrugged, picking his fork up. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Paul looked to his own plate with his fingers stretching. He didn’t want to look at Sean, still with a strong feeling of guilt.  

“How about,” Paul swallowed, “Sean comes with me next week?” Paul thought up, clenching his jaw. A week was not nearly enough time for everyone to move on, but what else would he tell his child?  

“That would be good, right, Sean?” John asked. “We get to see Paul work.” The “we” slightly pricked at the younger man, already forseeing trouble.  

“You want to come? Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Paul raised his eyebrows, trying to explain more with just the movements of his eyes.  

“Someone’s got to watch Sean, right?” John brushed through Sean’s hair, messing it up. “Sean, you want me to go, right?” Of course Sean said yes, appearing confused that that would be a question. 

“Johnny, can I speak to you?” Paul asked, rising up. “In the other room real quick?”  

“Can’t you say it here, love?” John retorted, knowing fully well that he was getting under Paul’s skin.  

“No,” he curtly answered, walking from the table. “We’ll be right back, Sean,” Paul told him, hearing John follow from behind. Once the two were far enough from the kitchen to be out of earshot, Paul spun around, getting closer to the older man’s face.  

“John, you know why I’m so reluctant to bring Sean, let alone  _you_ to the studio. Why do you feel the need to act like this?” 

“Like what, love? I think I make a good point, don’t you want to be able to work?” 

“You know that’s not it,” Paul said. “You know how quick the press and who knows else will swoop down the second they spot the three of us.” 

“So what? Let them talk.” John waved him off, only igniting more annoyance in Paul. “What happened to what you said last night about it all being out now anyway?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing into slits. 

“I don’t know, John, what happened to talking to me before dragging me into another situation?” Paul grit his teeth, his head feeling like it was on fire with a burning sensation spreading through it. “Look, I’ve already gone over this. I don’t, no, I  _refuse_ to put Sean in danger.” 

“I feel the same way, Paul, in case you forgot. But we also can’t keep him away from the outside forever, nor trade him off and pretend we both aren’t his parents. It’s not good for him. If those fuckers don’t like it then they’ll have to deal with it, and going out together is just how we’ll get it through.” John explained, his eyes fluctuating between a normal size and wide as the moon.  

“John, I just don’t know,” Paul muttered, fingertips lightly pressing his closed eyes. His headache and nausea returning with such a hard hit he thought he might need to sit down.  

“Just know that it’ll be okay, yeah?”  

“Fine, but I’m not bringing it any closer. We’re still going to keep it for next week.” 

“Perfect.” John leaned in to steal a kiss that Paul reluctantly reciprocated. “I promise you won’t regret this.” Why did that only make him feel worse? 

*** 

Bringing the coat collar higher over his face, Paul hurried to the vehicle. He had to will himself not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked with his high-collared coat, hat wide-brimmed hat, and even  _sunglasses_. It was like being a Beatle all over again. He had to thank Fred for not bursting out laughing at first sight. He only did his usual hello and drove on.  

It was odd, but even though Paul knew the glass was tinted, he still felt everyone watching him. Paul didn’t dare look to the outside, anxious that somehow he would make eye contact with someone, or see something he didn’t want to see.  

Linda welcomed Paul into the studio the second he arrived. He nervously glanced around for the slightest sign of movement. Paul actually found himself panicking when he spotted a moving car in the corner of his eye, but then realized it was just Fred leaving. Apologizing, Paul strode inside, giving one last look outside. 

“No press?” he asked her. 

“There was.” 

“Was?” Paul’s head snapped over, eyebrows creating creases in his forehead.  

“Told them you weren’t here, and that’s all it took,” she informed him, but Paul’s expression had yet to change. “No, they didn’t get to ask us anything, the second they knew you weren’t here, they went off to find you. As if they’d ever want to report on anyone that  _isn’t_ Paul McCartney,” Linda joked, giving an eye roll.  

“Thanks,” Paul said, smiling.  

“I know that things can’t be easy right now.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Paul assured, attempting to put on a brave face.  

“Still just, be careful. You know we can’t keep them gone for long,” she told Paul, her face displaying concern. “And I don’t think your disguise will keep fooling them either.” 

“I know, I’m sure by lunch we’ll have a few guests outside,” Paul responded, shoving his hands in his pockets, and his thumb stretching out to rub the ring. “Any chance you brought food along?” 

“Am I suddenly your mother? Carrying a bag of snacks and juice?” 

“Ain’t that in your contract somewhere?” The two laughed, burying any unsettling thoughts that banged around Paul’s head.  

“We’ll just have to settle for takeout, okay?” Linda proposed, her and Paul sauntering to the recording room where the rest of the group was waiting. Agreeing, Paul finally felt some genuine excitement to finally get to record music again. Denny was the second to approach Paul, pulling him in for an embrace.  

“Hi to you too,” Paul chuckled. 

“How have things been?” he sincerely asked.  

“Fine,” Paul shrugged. 

“Just fine? You’re getting married and you’re “just fine?”” 

“S’what I said,” Paul casually remarked. 

“Hey, I’m sure Linda told you, but we don’t care that you’re with a guy. You  _can_ be a little more excited about this.” 

"That's fab but I think I'm the right amount of excited for the time," Paul retorted, moving to grab the acoustic propped up on the floor. He held it close, tuning it while also tuning  _out_ everything else. He was sure Denny was giving Linda some look of confusion as Paul continued his little task. Once finished, he placed the instrument back and clapped his hands together. 

"Paul?" Denny questioned. 

"Right, are you guys ready to start?" Steve and Laurence nodded, avoiding any chance to get involved, which Paul appreciated. 

"I guess?" Denny and Linda eventually answered. 

For once, he could disconnect and forget everything else, focusing only on the melody and lyrics. It felt amazing to not have the urge to throw up or lie down, but under that existed the knowledge that it would not last. When it came close to nightfall, Paul had not even acknowledged ending the session and going home. Linda was the first to remind Paul once she realized the time, followed by Denny proposing that they end it for the night. Though Paul strongly protested, claiming the night was still young, the other members were not moved.  

“We always have tomorrow,” Denny pointed out, slumping on the floor with his instrument in his arms. "Ain't John gonna be wondering where you are anyways?" 

"He knows where I am, I don't have to check up with him every time  to practice, do I?" Paul unintentionally snapped. His bandmate only answered with his hands up in surrender. 

“We need to make sure we’re ready for the tour. We still have so many unfinished songs,” Paul continued, not even moving to wipe the sweat in his forehead.  

“The tour is a few months away,” Linda said, clearly exhausted as well. She stepped closer to Paul, close enough to where he could catch scent of sweat mixed with whatever perfume she had put on earlier.  

“Yes, but we,” he paused to lick his lips out of habit, “we need to be ready is all I’m saying.” 

“You’re beginning to grow transparent, Paul,” she whispered. Paul knew what she meant, but would refuse to remark on it aloud, even if everyone in the room suspected his motive behind staying. "Let's just all go home, and get some rest, okay?" Paul's eyes darted to each bandmate, he was sure his nervousness to step outside shined so brightly. But Linda was right, they had to go home at some point, and Paul couldn't hide in the studio all night.  

Paul cleared his throat. "Yeah, fine, fine, let's call it a night," he said followed by a short exhale. The bandmates mutely began to pack up everything, gathering to the door, and exiting one by one, leaving just Paul and Linda. Grabbing her bag, she swung it over her shoulder, and approached her ex. Paul heard her suppress a giggle as he donned his disguise yet again, even the sunglasses. 

"Maybe lose the sunglasses, unless you want to trip over yourself," she suggested, swiping them away. The man reached out for them, but stopped short when she jumped back, ready to keep the glasses away at all costs.  

"Linda, can I get me glasses back, please?" he tried asking to no avail. 

"It's nighttime, I think you'll be fine with your flasher coat." 

"It's a trenchcoat," Paul protested, pulling it tighter around him. 

"Not in New York City," Linda said, poking one of the buttons. Paul adjusted the collar, pulling it up higher on his face and fixed the hat as well.  

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms, "I'll just hurry to Fred- shit!"  

"What's wrong now?" 

"I forgot to phone him," Paul said, turning back to get to the phone. As he was doing so, a hand gripped his shoulder, halting his action.  

"How about we just go get coffee instead?" Linda offered. The man appeared as though she had just told him the worst joke in the plane of existence.  

"Are you insane?!" Paul answered, exasperated. "Oh, yes, let's go to a nice, brightly lit coffee shop right after the whole world finds out your deepest secret!" Paul stomped to the phone attached to the wall, grabbing it, but not moving to dial a number. 

"Fine, then how about a bar?? It's dim and no one gives a shit about anything but their  _drink_ _!"_  Linda remarked, her own voice growing louder. "I'm just trying to help you, Paul! You can't be so scared to go outside, you have to face it eventually." 

"I  _know_ and I  _will,"_ Paul spat, slamming the phone back on the hook, taking a few breaths. "I planned on coming to a session with John and Sean," he admitted, slowly rotating his body to face towards the woman.  

"Are you really?" 

"Yes, I am." Linda put an arm around her bandmate, rubbing his shoulder. She gave one pat to his arm. 

“That’s good, Paul,” she commented. “That’s really good.” 

“Thanks,” Paul smiled, “I was thinking about Monday.” 

“Really ready to stick it to the press?” 

“I guess so,” Paul said as he shrugged her off. Brushing any dust that clung to his jacket, the man played with his collar again. That nervousness was beginning to plant itself back into the bottom of his stomach. That sickening feeling that made him wish he could just wipe it away,  _or wash_ “Do you think you still want that drink?” Linda just nodded and put her arm back around Paul, and lead him out the door. 

*** 

John had taken to the kitchen to prepare a bowl of fresh popcorn for him and Sean later in the day. John enjoyed spending his days with Sean, of course, never once minding them. But after that conversation with Paul, John wasn't sure what to feel. Any enjoyment from being with his son diluted by mixed emotions derived from earlier. Paul's words were beginning to seep into him, messing with his mind. John began to also grow worried for their well-being, but he would never admit that what he did was the wrong choice. He was too proud. John ripped open a bag of popcorn, letting it fall into the pan. The pan was shaken and held tightly by the man as the flames underneath warmed the kernels. Blankly, John watched as some of the kernels began to pop and change.  

Rather than more sounds of popping, a ring ripped John away from his auto-pilot mode. Switching the stove off before the kernels could fully pop, he followed the noise into the living room. Sean jumped off of the couch and pointed to the phone. 

"Daddy, the phone is ringing!" Sean told him. 

"I know, son," John replied, picking up the phone as he sat down, and inquired who was calling.  

"Dad? It's Julian." John's eyes widened, he had not expected to hear his son's voice at such a random time. It was both a great yet off putting feeling. 

"Hey, Jules," John finally said, still a bit surprised to hear him. "There a certain reason yer calling?" The older man didn't know why he asked that, as if he had no ideas that could lead to a conclusion. 

"I called earlier, didn't Paul tell you?" John rubbed the bridge of his nose, then scratched behind his ear. 

"No, he didn't," said John, "but he also had to go record today so it might've slipped his mind. I take it I know what the call was over?" 

"When were you gonna tell me that you and Paul were together?" 

"Jules, don't take it the wrong way, please. We never intended to hurt you by keeping this a secret, we just weren't sure how to do it." 

Julian scoffed. "Did Paul give you a notecard to read from?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Nothing, it's just that that's exactly what Paul said and I have to wonder just how genuine it is." 

"What do you want me to say? That we purposefully planned to keep this a secret from you and Cyn? That it was an elaborate scheme to hurt you anymore than I already have? Sorry to disappoint but neither are true," John went on, trying but failing to fight feelings of anger bubbling up. "It's not so simple to tell your ex-wife and son that you suddenly decided to go off and marry another man, you know." 

"We wouldn't care." 

"Could you say that five years ago, or ten years ago, or  _twenty years ago_?" 

"Considering I'm only sixteen the last two might be a  _bit_ of a stretch, dad," he uneasily chuckled. "But you're still my dad, I'd learn." John felt his heart swell a little, even after all he had done, Julian was still talking to him,  _comforting_ him nonetheless. He did nothing to deserve that, nor such a great son. As Sean impatiently prodded John, asking who it was, the older man saw how lucky he could be.  

"Few more minutes, Sean," John whispered. 

"Is Sean there?" Julian asked. 

"Yeah, do you want to talk to him?" 

"Not right now," answered Julian, "there's actually another reason I called." 

"What is it?" 

"I want to come visit for a few days." John sat up straight from his formerly relaxed sitting position. 

"You do?" John had to question to make sure he wasn't hearing things. "And Cyn's alright with that?" 

"Yeah, she told me it would be nice if I got to see you again." John's mouth fell open as he held the phone even closer to his ear, making sure to catch every word. "I was thinking sometime in early December if that's okay." 

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds great, Jules. I'll be sure to let Paul know, I'm sure he'll be just as excited to see you again." 

"That's great," Julian said. "I should probably go now, but I'll call again soon." 

"Okay, Jules," John nodded. "Thanks for calling," he added, to which Julian nodded before they both hung up. 

“Daddy, who was it?” Sean pressed on, his hands hitting John’s thigh.  

“Your brother. Julian, love. He’s coming to visit soon.”  

“Really?” Sean asked, moving to his knees with a bounce. It just occurred to John that this would be the first time Sean would actually meet Julian. He had spoken on the phone to him every rare chance it came along that Julian would take the time to call. 

“Do you think he’ll wanna go to the park with me?” 

“I’m sure that’s all he can think about,” John laughed, filling with joy. He then suddenly hopped up from his seat, remembering that he still had yet to fully pop the popcorn. He leisurely carried himself to the kitchen, relieved to feel an ounce of excitement spark in his chest. 

*** 

The bar was just what Paul needed. As Linda said, it was dim and no one gave a shit about anything but their drink, then again that was how most bars were. At least, the ones he had frequented back when he was in his twenties. Still, it was refreshing to be in an area where his face was not as easily recognized. He actually felt a little at ease as him and Linda grabbed two stools as far from any of the drunks slumped over. Though, not enough to actually take off his little outfit he put together. He was grateful Linda had not attempted convince him to take it off. 

The bartender, an older, slightly overweight woman approached them, and Paul swore that just for a moment, he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him. Linda took the liberties of ordering the drinks for them, just two beers. Grinning to the bartender, Paul took a swig before glancing around at his surroundings.  

"Relax," said Linda in the most hush tone she could muster. The man only grunted as a response, not risking his voice getting recognized. Mimicking the drunks around him, Paul slouched over, continuing to sip his drink. Everything he tried to do to make himself seem invisible felt to have no effect on his growing sickness, possibly only making it worse. He saw poor Linda in his peripheral vision, awkwardly watching him, unsure how to help. There was nothing to expect of her, Paul concluded. All she wanted to do was get him out, and now that he is out, there was no clue on what to do next.  

Paul recoiled when his ring clinked against the glass bottle as he took it. The man studied his dark brown bottle, fingertips sliding down the smooth sides, and collecting the cold droplets. His forefinger and thumb rubbed the liquid together as the stare of his friend bored through him. As he studied the dying residue of water left on his finger, the stare did not only seem to come from Linda. It came from a man down the counter, then the bartender, then another customer at a table behind him, and the watchful eyes just kept coming. Well, that was what Paul  _thought_ it was, he didn't dare look up from his current occupation. But he just  _knew_ they were watching, they knew who he was, and they knew all they needed to know. Paul's heart rate was beginning to quicken, the sweat accumulating on his forehead similarly to the droplets on the bottle. His ears perked at the sound of something hitting them. Was it Linda? No, it was so distant and quiet. They had to be whispers. Whispers accumulating yet all still remained so quiet that Paul could not understand a single one of them. Though, he had an idea on what each one had in common. Each one had to carry the word, " _queer."_  He couldn't breathe, his windpipes closing and tightening, like strong hands were squeezing his throat. Another whisper, it was so much closer. 

"Paul," came the whisper, only to be Linda. Paul shot up, slamming the bottle on the surface, releasing it from his tense grasp. The whispers were no longer around him, and the eyes were not watching him anymore, but still, the dreadful feeling remained.  

"Paul, please, take a breath, calm down." 

"I-I," he fumbled as he tried to breathe again. "I have to go," he finished, bolting from the stool and out of the bar. He was sure Linda called for him from behind, forgetting that it would draw attention. Paul only stumbled forward into the crowded sidewalk, the cold air hitting him like a train. The sea of people suffocated him, fear spiking great enough to cause his body to quake. It appeared to Paul that he could pass out at any moment from the heightened stress of it all. The wind blew against him as he continued forward as best as he could, moving with the current of bodies. An ignored call from Linda, then another gust of wind that knocked the wide hat right off of Paul's head. Hands flew to his head, covering himself as though he were trying to hide a hideous scar. Then he took off, using all of his energy to run through the crowd. 

“Mr. McCartney?” a voice caused the man to stop short in his tracks. A woman with short, red hair approached him, a notebook in her hand. “Hi, I was hoping to ask you-“ 

“No, I’m sorry I don’t have the time,” Paul turned down, trying to get away, but was still persisted.  

“Mr. McCartney, wait! Is there anything you have to say about your engagement to John Lennon?” Did she have to say it loud enough for the whole world?! This was just what Paul feared, what he knew would happen. 

“No, nothing!” he shot back.  

“Surely you must have something to say?” she held her notebook closer, eyes widening with full intent to spark some sort of need in Paul to do as she said. However, the fear and crippling worry was enough to overpower it. 

“There’s nothing to say! Please leave me alone!” Paul sped off again, shoving his way through the smothering people.  

Paul kept his eyes ahead, never looking anywhere else. His heart beat rapidly against his chest, and thick spit, with a hint of a coppery taste, filled his mouth. Of course people were beginning to look to him, he was creating nothing but a spectacle of himself. And he hear it all, the snide remarks and the stifled laughter directed towards him. It was all too much, it was all building up and clogging each and every sense he possessed.  

"Paul!" The man actually  _shrieked_ as a hand grabbed his arm, it was Linda's hand. She was panting and gasping for air, holding his arm for some support. "Let's go." She pulled him off to the side, close to a dumpster in an alley.  

"I'm sorry, Linda, but I've got to get home," he said, urgently yanking himself free.  

"Don't be stupid, please?! You're acting ridiculous, you're fine!"  

"Linda, no, no I'm not god damn fine!" Paul shouted, surprised by his own lashing out. Wheezes and gasps racked through him, a burning sensation spreading all throughout his head.  "Don't follow me, I need to just go!" Paul said, then continued his hurried run to the apartment, the coat collar pulled as high as it could go. He looked back one last time, and Linda had thankfully not followed. His run turned to a trot, then eventually a half jog half walk while he shoved his hands in his pockets. Body slouched, Paul's gait slowed even more, his heart not able to keep up with the fast pace much more. All he could think of doing was getting home and falling into his bed. One swipe of his thumb against his ring made him then think of John, and suddenly he had less of an urge to go home. The pit growing in his stomach rather than shrink, it was like he was trapped between two things he wasn't sure he could be able to face. 

 A shoulder knocked into him, followed by a string of curses as Paul turned to whoever it was. It was some man, a bit round with short hair and glasses, maybe around his age, snarling until he realized who he was. The man stepped closer to Paul, who slightly leaned away from the man, but didn't take a full step.  

"Shit, I'm sorry for that," he said, brushing at Paul's shoulder. The people around them diverged into two sections, muttering under their breaths because of the two men stopping the flow. "I'm a big fan, I've got a ton of Beatle records I listen to constantly." 

"Cheers, mate," Paul said, shuffling his feet in place. "Always great to find a fan." 

"Yeah, I even got a ticket to your show, fucking fantastic you are," he added, still awestruck, then glanced around Paul. "Is John with you?"  

"Why?" Paul defensively asked. 

"Was hoping to meet him too," he sheepishly said. "Great fan of him too, I've got all of his solo stuff. Next time right?" The man chuckled, and Paul felt almost obligated to do the same. He then felt around his coat, clapping his hands against his pockets. "Could I get an autograph, man?" he asked, pulling out a random napkin but no pen. Paul panicked for a second, thumb rubbing against the ring once more. Something in his weighted his hands in his pockets, this was all just drawing  _more_ attention. 

"S-sorry, I haven't got a pen," Paul said, which was rightfully true. 

"I can find one, please?" the man nearly begged, pushing the napkin closer. The eyes were coming back to him, every second he stood there, the eyes multiplied. Paul rapidly shook his head, spinning around with his back to the man. 

"No, I'm sorry, I need to go," Paul said, coldly before walking off. 

“Hey, man, wait, come on!” 

“No, I need to go!” The worst part was what followed. He wasn't sure how much of what he heard in the bar or anywhere earlier was real, but this he was certain was. As he made his way from the man, he muttered something. 

"Fucking faggot," Paul heard the man say, which actually made him freeze. Paul turned his head to see the man was closer once again, glaring right towards him. 

"Excuse me?" Paul croaked.  

"You heard me," he spat. "Should be grateful you even have a dedicated fan like me, not treat them like dirt." 

"Grateful, eh?" 

"Yeah, grateful that I'm one of the fans that's putting up with your new stunt." 

"What do you mean by stunt?" Paul narrowed his eyes, body now fully turned.  

"Why don't you go ask your faggy boyfriend," he answered, shoving Paul aside to stomp forward. Paul didn't even try to go after him, or retaliate, he just stood there. He was frozen, his body going limp and stiff at the same time. Paul wanted to feel angry towards the man, towards John, towards  _anyone,_ but instead he felt nothing. Finally, his feet, as heavy as concrete, took Paul back to the apartment, back to some form of isolation from the city. Even if it meant facing John. The numbness tingled throughout Paul. 

*** 

Nine-forty five, the clock read when John checked the time. It wasn’t too concerning considering that Paul could lose track of time while recording, but that didn’t stop John from wondering where the man was. Even when he phoned Fred, he said that Paul never called him. John had to wonder if it was all on purpose. 

Sean grabbed the last bit of popcorn from the bowl, stuffing it in his mouth as he kept his eyes on the film they were watching. John thought to get another bowl but remembered that they were already on their second one. Picking up the now empty bowl, the man took it away to the kitchen.  

“We’d both look like balloons if we kept that up,” John said, coming back from the kitchen. There was something so great about Sean clinging to him the second he sat back down. His little hands grasping at him while his body rested against John as the movie played on.  

"Daddy, where's Paul?" wondered Sean, who even noticed that it was weird for Paul to be so late without saying. 

"He's just at work," John answered, trying to sound certain of it.  

"Oh," Sean said, his hold on John growing looser.  

"Think it's about time to get you to bed," John said, noting that it was getting past to his bedtime. Sean whined for just a little longer through a long yawn, but John shook his head. "You'll barely be able to keep yer eyes open soon enough, son." Mumbling something else, Sean tried to disagree with another loud yawn.  

"Not yet..." John only answered the request by helping Sean off of the couch, and taking his hand.  

"Come on, I'll even read to ye," John offered, pulling him along. Sean finally went along with it, requesting that John read him a bit of Alice in Wonderland, which John happily agreed upon. He helped the boy into his pajamas, and allowed him to get situated onto his bed while he searched for the book. Finally, he found it under a stack of picture books, and went back to Sean, who was already under the blanket and resting against his pillow. 

"Comfy?" John asked. Sean nodded and urged John to begin reading. John opened the book only to be interrupted by a closing door. Smacking the book shut, John turned his attention to the source. 

"Must be Paul," said John, placing the book aside. "I'll be right back, alright?" Sean huffed and gave an "okay" while John stood up.  

He was thankfully right, it was his boyfriend standing at the inside the door, pulling his shoes off with one hand. A sigh escaped the younger man who didn't seem to notice John was even there. 

"Where have you been?" John asked, surprising Paul. Fred told me he never got a call from ye." Throwing his coat to the side, the other man shrugged. "What’s that supposed to mean?" John imitated the shrug, his tone carrying irritation. "Not a bleeding mind reader, you know." Paul glared and continued passed John. John followed, watching how Paul glanced towards Sean's bedroom, then went to their room.  

"You know you had Sean worried," John conjured up, trying to find something to say. "Asking where you were and all." 

"Did he really?" Paul scoffed, unbuttoning his shirt.  

"Yeah, he did," John asserted. Paul rolled his eyes as he undid his trousers, leaving his in only a t-shirt and boxers. 

"I'm sure," Paul muttered, lifting the duvet. 

"What's that now?" John stepped closer, hand pushing the fabric back to the bed. Paul just shook his head and said, "nothing," pausing in the middle of going to move John's hand. Two eyes journeyed up John's body, stopping at his own. Were Paul's eyes reddened? 

"Did something happen?" questioned John, coming around the other side of the bed where Paul was. "Paul?" he tried again. The younger man's unreadable expression became one of a snarl as he lunged towards John. Fists balled in the older man's shirt, smashing their lips together while pushing him flat against the door. A bang echoed, and John winced at the sudden contact. 

"Christ, Paul, you could've just  _said_ you were horny," John said, finding himself actually laughing when he could finally come up for air. He reached around for the doorknob while also trying to push Paul away. "Let me at least read Sean a story, yeah?" Paul grunted and put his hand firmly on the door. His hand then ventured down to the knob, locking it.  

"He can wait," Paul said, unzipping John's jeans, yanking them, along with his underwear, down right after. He then spun John around and pushed him over to the bed. John barely had a chance to say something before Paul shoved him on the bed before climbing on top of him. John chuckled again, half of his face buried in the whiteness of the blanket and sheets. A yelp then escaped as a hand came down on his bum, followed by the sound of the bedside drawer being opened.  

Two slick fingers were quickly inserted in him, his boyfriend pushing them in as far as they could go, and began scissoring them. Gasping, John gripped the duvet under him, and also bit into it with his teeth to stifle the noise. With barely any warning, Paul shoved the tip of his cock inside of John, then thrusted himself fully inside with another animalistic grunt. The older man felt himself choke on some of his spit for a second, his legs starting to tremble with excitement and arousal. Finally, Paul began to move, all of it was quick and dirty, the only audible noises were Paul's groans and John's gasps and moans quieted by the mattress. A hand took locks of John's auburn hair in its hold, twisting and yanking his head up. John shuddered when he felt hot breath against his ear, tickling the skin. 

"You like this?" Paul whispered, twisting his hair more.  

"Nngk, y-y-yeah, shit, yeah, Paul..." John gurgled through grit teeth. Paul rarely got like this, usually preferring to take everything slow and gently. John knew something had to have happened to trigger such behavior, but he was just too aroused to talk about it for the time as Paul continued to roughly thrust into him.  

"Bet you do," Paul growled, letting go of John's hair, letting his head drop back to the bed. "You love this, faggot." With that, the entire mood shifted for John, who then began to feel behind himself for Paul's hands that were now on John's hips.  

"What was that, M-Macca?" John asked, wriggling his body more, causing Paul to have to slow his movements. He prayed that he had just been hearing things in the heat of the moment. 

"You love getting fucked like a dirty queer," Paul said, slamming another time into John. "Like the faggot you are." That was it, John twisted his body, using one hand to push Paul away. Paul pulled himself out and got off of his boyfriend. "Fucking hell," he muttered, still clearly hard. Pushing off of the bed to grab his clothes, John's nostrils began to flare in anger. He couldn't even bring it in him to look at the other man as he dressed, feeling absolutely disgusted. When he went to unlock the door to step out, he glanced back at the younger man, his wild and feral expression looking to fade into regret.  

"We'll talk when I get back," John said, leaving the room.  

John read Sean his story, despite everything that just happened intruding him. The words slicing into his skin, making him feel queasy. Something happened, that or it was pent up anger and stress towards just everything. Either way, John was not letting it slide, he was going to talk to Paul whether he wanted to or not. When John finished the excerpt of the book, he placed it to the side, and gave the boy a kiss to his forehead. He forced a smile, and left the room to let Sean fall asleep.  

He could see Paul lying in bed, but already was aware that he wasn't actually asleep, accounting on how the younger man shifted the second the door clicked open. 

"Paul," John called his attention, not moving any closer to the bed. He crossed his arms and stood up straight, waiting for his boyfriend to acknowledge him. Paul did after a long, uncomfortable minute, sitting up with his shoulders higher than his head.  

"John," he said, biting his lip.  

"Should probably start by asking just what the hell that was earlier first of all," said John, staring straight into the younger man. He mumbled something and played with his ring, twisting and pulling it. "Well?" 

"Johnny, I-it's- I don't know why I did that, honest." 

"So it's alright when you don't know why you did something wrong I presume?" 

"No, I'm just saying-" 

"I  _know_ what you said, Paul," John told him, jabbing his finger in the air. "What I'm trying to figure out is  _why."_ John continued to the bed, sitting on the edge of the other side with his hands flat on his lap. "What happened earlier?" 

"Nothing John." 

"I know you're lying, Paul. Please, I need you to talk to me if something happened." John inhaled, slouching slightly. "Was it someone in the band? Did they say something?" 

"No."  

"Then who was it?" 

"No one, John, I just don't know what got into me. That's all, I swear." 

"Why didn't you phone Fred?" John pushed, still keeping from looking at Paul. 

"I went for a drink with Linda," he confessed.  

"You went out with Linda?" John wet his lips, then pressed them together. "Why?" 

"Because I needed a drink, am I not allowed that anymore?"  

"Why didn't you tell me? Don't know if you remember, but we do have a son, emphasis on  _we,_ Paul." Paul just snickered behind him. 

"Guess they were wrong, I'm not a faggot. I'm about to marry a nagging woman, after all?"  

"Sod off, Paul," John tried to brush it off, but somehow there was still a pang in his chest. "I know something happened and if you're gonna be difficult, then I can't fucking help." 

"Well I don't want your help!" Paul shouted only to be shushed by John, finally turning to put a hand over his mouth. John crawled onto the bed, resting on his knees, still keeping his hand in place. 

"Keep it down, Sean's asleep in case you forgot he existed." Paul jerked his head away. 

"How could I remember when he's always attached to you?" Paul asked in a softer voice. 

"You're acting like he's never around you," John responded. "Pretty sure you're the one who still wanted to go on tour for months at a time." 

"That's not the point, even when I'm here he just wants you." John went to speak but was interrupted. "And don't try to say he doesn't you see how he always goes to you more." 

"Paul, for fuck's sake, he's  _ours,_ you’re his father too, Paulie." John placed his hand on Paul's shoulder, which was then shrugged off shortly after.  

"I'm not  _really_ his father though, am I?"  

"What are you going on about?"  

"I'm not actually his dad, John. I didn't  _make_ him with you, did I? He's more of Yoko's kid than he is mine." 

"Shut up," John growled, shaking his fiancee by his shoulders. It was all bullshit, everything Paul was rambling on about, John told himself. Sean wasn't related to Paul biologically, so what? It didn't matter to John, and it shouldn't matter to Paul! "When we brought Sean home from the hospital, who was the one who held him until he fell asleep? Who was the one who opted to give him piano lessons despite him barely being able to talk? Who gave up a part of their life to help raise him? Pretty sure it wasn't Yoko. You are his dad, we're a  _family."_  

"Get real, Johnny," Paul snidely answered, getting up from the bed and taking a few steps away. John remained on the bed for a moment before scrambling off and following. "This whole thing, it's not a family. Nothing about this is the picture perfect family, it's...I don't know what it is. It's all just some fantasy you want to live, but have no clue about reality." 

"Shut up, Paul," John warned.  

"You know it's true, John. I'm just supposed to sit over here, smile, and pretend everything's fine, but is it really?" Paul widened his eyes, inching closer to John as his eyes became glassier. "What are we doing, Johnny?" John noted how Paul's mask was beginning to crack, his facial expression tightening and tensing. 

"Living life together, Macca. Same thing we've been doing." John could feel his own mask breaking. "Just now, it's all out there." 

"For everyone to see, right?" Paul murmured. "Why does that matter to you, John? At least tell me that." John kneaded the skin of his arm as he peered around, trying to find some sort of reply. 

"I-" John stopped himself before he said he didn't know, "I'm getting old, Paul. I'm thirty-nine, and life's just passing me, and it-it  _scares_ me." Paul held an expression of bewilderment, anger, and sadness all at once. 

"So this is all just some mid-life crisis to you? Is that it?" 

"What? No!" John protested, immediately lowering his voice. "You're twisting my words now, that's not what I mean and you know it." 

"Do I? You make it sound like you did all of this because you're getting old and scared of that, how else could I take it?"  

"I'm not trying to say it like that," John countered. "I'm just trying to explain that I'm getting old, I'm fucking scared, and I knew I couldn't wait to live my life anymore. It just terrifies me." 

"You think I'm not scared?" answered Paul, more wrinkles becoming visible on his forehead. "You think I don't get a little sick when I look in the mirror and see some wrinkling man instead of a twenty-something year old? Aging's scary, John, life's scary, but that doesn't mean we just go out and do what we want without considering the consequences." 

"Paulie..." he began, but had no way to finish.  

“And I don’t want you or Sean coming to my rehearsals or practice sessions,” he came out with. “It’s just-It’s just not as safe.”  

“Did someone hurt you? Is that what happened?” John asked, growing sick. Paul turned his back to John, causing the older man to snatch his arm, and spin him back around. “That  _is_ what happened!” 

Paul yanked away. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.  

“Paul, please,  _tell me!”_  

Paul shook his head. “ _Nothing_  happened, I told you. I just don’t feel comfortable with it is all.” John put on a look that said nothing, but Christ, did he feel like he could burst. The younger man hugged himself tightly, fingers tapping his elbows. A thick frown contorted Paul's face as he rocked his body while on his feet. He was trying so hard not to break, John could see the pieces of the man just barely holding together. Wrapping his arms around Paul, the older man took him into an embrace, feeling the corners of his mouth tug downwards. Paul still refused to break, keeping so deathly silent in his arms.  

"Let's just go to sleep, Paul. I don't care, we can forget this ever happened, yeah? Let's just get some sleep," John pleaded for a verbal answer, but received none. The younger man quietly agreed, pulling out of John's hold, and first making a stop to the bathroom. The older man let him, deciding he would just get straight into bed once out of his clothes.  

Once in the bed, John practically hugged the pillow, looking towards the closed bathroom door, and the bit of light sneaking out from the bottom. There was thick silence, the sound of a gasp trying to be muffled, and then a heavy sob.  

John waited patiently for Paul to return, trying to not listen to the heart-wrenching sounds. The older man had not noticed how the pillow became damp with his own tears. He swiped them away before his boyfriend came back, turning on his other side from the door with his eyes squeezed shut. The bed shifted its weight from another person getting on it. He opened his eyes again, and squinted through the blurry darkness. He made out a silhouette of the younger man's back to him. There was an urge to attach to Paul, wrap around his body, and feel the heat of his body, but he just didn't.   
 

*** 

January 26, 1980 

“Linda?” 

“Paul? Where were you?! Do you know how  _stupid_ that was?!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but listen.” 

A sigh. “What?” 

“Is there any way we can extend the tour?” 

“For how long??” 

“Thinking we could start as early as March.” 

“You’re daft. How do you expect us to be ready by then?!” 

Silence. 

“We can push it to May and add more months on the end if you want, but that’s  _it._ At least for me. Have you even considered the others or  _John and Sean?”_   

More silence. 

“Oh, I see what’s happening.” 

“Linda, it’s not-“ 

“I won’t say anything, Paul, but I know why you’re doing this.” 

“Do you?” 

“I think so, sadly.” 

The hairs on Paul's neck stood.  

“I have to go, Linda.” 

“Alright.”  

The line went dead, and Paul left the room to rejoin John and Sean watching the television.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done just in time! Enjoy!!  
> Thanks to lucylisy , pasteljohnlennon, and chut-je-dors for being such big helps!!!

January 30, 1980 

Paul sneaked off from breakfast, claiming to need the toilet. John nodded and waved the younger man off, watching him almost scurry away. After a couple minutes, John began to grow increasingly suspicious. Meanwhile, Sean started to go on about some new toy that he saw on a commercial this morning, and John pretended to listen and not be consumed with suspicion for Paul. Wiping his mouth, John threw the napkin onto his plate, and pushed his chair back. He leaned over to brush some hair from Sean’s eyes, then went lower to swipe away the crumbs of toast on his face. 

“I’m gonna go check on, Paul, hon,” John informed him. “Make sure he didn’t get lost,” he added cheekily. With that, John got up and went on his search. Eyes scanned the rooms, not able to spot Paul. The man wasn’t even in the bathroom, the place he said he’d be.  

Then came their bedroom, the door was shut, and when John tried to jiggle the knob quietly, it didn’t turn. So he leaned closer, ear pressed to the door. The voice of Paul could be made out, but it was so hush, John could barely hear him. After another few seconds of trying his hardest to hear to no avail, John hatched a new idea. He ran off to the living room and snatched the phone in there. Holding it close, he quieted his breathing so he would not be noticed. The man instantly recognized the other voice, it was _George._  

*** 

Paul quietly shut the door, making sure not a single noise would escape to John or Sean. After that night a few days ago, Paul was truly at his breaking point. He cancelled multiple practice sessions after then, remaining inside, locked away. When Linda would call to question him, Paul would make up an excuse like sickness or something with Sean. Even though Paul promised he would bring Sean to a rehearsal, which he had to tell him was not going to happen when Monday came along. That of course ended in tears from the boy who looked as though he had horribly betrayed him. In a way, he supposed he did, but knew Sean would understand why when he was older. 

Either way, Paul could barely function since that day, feeling less motivated to do anything. Everything he did felt like absolutely nothing as he continued to be dragged down by his own thoughts. That was why the younger man felt the new need to get away, he had to get away from the city, from the stress. Lifting the phone, Paul began to dial a specific number,  _George’s._  

“George?” Paul spoke, the ringing on the other end halting. 

“Paul? What’s going on?” George casually asked. Paul shot his head to the door, not that anyone could open the locked door, but it was still a reflex. He swallowed dry air before speaking. 

“Georgie, um, do you think that, erm,” Paul began, twisting the chord of the phone between his fingers. “Do you think I could possibly come visit you for a bit?” His head swiftly turned to the door, swearing someone was there. When no efforts came after to get in, Paul calmed down. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Well…” Paul sighed. “I don’t know what you’d call alright anymore. I just have to get out of New York for a little.” 

“How long? I don’t mind, Paul, but just how long do you need?” Paul twirled the chord tighter around his finger, humming lowly.  

“I don’t know, George, not long, I promise.” There were some whispers on the other end, George and Olivia most likely conversing on it. The man waited impatiently for them to decide, his hands trembling when he thought he heard another noise, but brushed it off as paranoia. 

“That’s fine, Paul, when do you think you’d be coming?”  

“A couple days or so, I need to get everything ready. I think the second of February I’ll be leaving.” 

“Alright,” said George. “Paul, not that it’s my business, but does this have anything to do with all  _this?”_   

“George, all I want is to see an old mate, that’s all.” 

“And John knows about this?” 

“Yes, he said it would be great for me actually,” Paul lied, lowering his voice even more as he did so. Then came no immediate answer, just a few more whispers between the couple. 

“Okay, it’ll be good to see you again, Paul.”  

“Cheers,” Paul said before hanging up. Unwrapping himself from the chord, he took a few steps back, paused, then left for the door. A breath of relief left Paul as he stepped out to find no one was here. Strolling from the bedroom, Paul found John in the living room, near one of the other phones. He swallowed thickly, going forward.  

"What are you doing?" Paul asked. 

"Was just going to call Yoko to ask how she was, only to find that the phone was  _busy."_  

"Yeah," Paul said, throat becoming dry, "sorry about that, George was just calling to ask how things were." 

"Really now?" John lifted his head and eyebrows. "Odd considering the phone didn't ring."  _Shit,_ Paul mentally cursed as he searched his brain for something to answer with. 

"He called earlier in the morning, I was just calling him back," he came up with. John put on the appearance of believing Paul, but then looked to drop the act.  

"I'm not gonna fight with you, Macca," John lowered his voice, eyes clearly glancing to the kitchen as he pushed his glasses up. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm not starting shit right now, not with Sean just out there," John said. "But I'll just say that if you want to leave, then  _leave."_ John went to exit back to the kitchen, but was grabbed by Paul. The younger man yanked him away, far from the kitchen where Sean couldn’t hear. Like a boomerang, Paul was back in the bedroom with John’s arm in one hand.  

“I don’t know why you did this.” John took his arm back.  

“Because I want to hear what you have to say.” 

“There’s nothing else to say, if you wanna go so badly, don’t let me hold you back," he half-yelled, throwing his hands up as though it were in surrender. 

"John," Paul said, trying to find something to defend himself with. Nothing came about. 

"Don't try to twist anything, Paul. I heard everything. You want to live with George, then go the fuck ahead," John flicked one hand in the air, snarling like a dog. 

"Doesn't feel too good having your boyfriend go behind your back, does it?" Paul stomped around the room, then sharply turned to John. "And I don't  _want_ that, but I don't have much of a choice!" 

"Oh, alright, you don't want that." John nodded his head, hands resting on his hips. "By the way, love, I liked your little "I promise" at the end. That another one of your famous promises?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"You know, the promise you like to tack on to make people feel better. Like when you promised we'd be out about us by now, yet five years after moving in together and raising a child, only  _now_  does it happen. I'm just wondering if George is aware of what "I promise" means in the McCartney Dictionary." Paul fought the urge to charge over and punch his boyfriend right in the mouth. That smug look he held, like he had Paul all figured out, made him absolutely sick.  

"Shove off, John, you act like everything's so damn easy. Sorry to disappoint, but this is surprisingly harder than you think you know." 

"No, it's actually pretty simple," John stubbornly protested. "Either you want to stay or go, and if you don't care enough to stay, then I don't either." 

"Where do you get off that I don't care?? If I didn't care, I  _guarantee_  you that I certainlywould not still be here. I wouldn't have moved in, agree to raise Sean, and I would not have tried to deal with all  _this!"_ Paul wildly gestured around, hands now fists swinging through the air. "I just need a break from the constant stress, John." 

"You can't just take a fucking break, Paul. You can't shut yer eyes and walk away from this just because you're ashamed." The last word caught and hooked onto the younger man. 

"I never said I was ashamed."  

"You didn't have to." 

"When have I-" 

"When was the last time I fucked you?"  

"W-what?!" Paul sputtered, the question throwing him off guard. 

"You never let me fuck you, Paul. When was the last time? My birthday as some pity fuck?" 

"Christ John, why do you feel the need to bring it all back to your damn prick?" Paul grew redder with every word. 

"It's not about that! It's that you always dance around the subject. It's about hiding our relationship, and Sean. It's about you trying to avoid being  _too queer."_  

"You're delusional." 

"No, it's true. You're so ashamed and disgusted with it. So I just have to wonder, why are you even still here?" Something in the younger man snapped in that moment. Striding across the room to the closet, Paul dug around until he found a couple suitcases. He clicked them open stuffed clothes from the closet into them. 

"What are you doing?" John stormed over to him. 

"Fine, John, you're right like always," Paul said, passive-aggressively tossing an article of clothing into the suitcase. "Why am I here if I'm  _so_  ashamed of the man I'm engaged to? May as well go, right? Well, here I go." Before Paul knew it, a shirt was thrown over his head by John. He now had taken to the drawers, pulling out socks, underwear, and pants, throwing them in Paul's direction. 

"Here, then let me help, love!" A pair of pants landed on Paul's face next. He just stuffed them away, not entertaining John with a response. Once both suitcases were filled, they were slammed shut with parts of clothing hanging out. Not that Paul found it in him to care, too caught up in himself. He swaggered to the bedroom door, towards John, with both cases in hands and his chin up.  

"And where do ye plan on going for now?" 

"I'll go to Linda's," he confidently answered. 

"Fine, go cry to her, like yer some poor victim." Paul slammed the suitcases down, the want to smack John returning.  

"I am, John. I'm a victim in the bloody cycle you've got me caught in! It's always the same, you do something, it backfires on you, I somehow get involved, we fight, and then I have to get over it and move on. Well, not this time, I can't do it again!" The younger man's next move even surprised himself. Paul slid the metal band off of his finger, holding it in John's face, and tauntingly waved it around. Then, he let it fall to their feet, not even watching it fall, instead choosing to keep his sight on John. His face was shifting between an infuriated and distressed look as the ring bounced on the carpet. 

"I'm done." The younger man took his bags, and stormed off. He didn't hear John follow, stopping himself from looking back. Paul passed through the kitchen, passed Sean who was still sitting at the table.  

"Paul?" his tiny voice called. The man cussed when his body stopped and faced the boy looking at him with big, innocent eyes. "Where are you going?" Paul opened his mouth to speak but heard a completely different voice. 

"Paul's going to see Uncle George for a while. Aren't you, Paul?" John, standing in the kitchen entrance on the other side, finished with disdain in his voice. 

“Right now?”  

"Yeah, I am," Paul confirmed.  

"How long?" Sean pointed to the bags. 

I don't know." Paul forced himself to say, finding it hard to answer when he saw Sean's saddening face with his eyes growing slightly wet. The boy was young, but he wasn't stupid. The two suitcases fell to the floor as Paul dropped to his knees to give Sean a hug, fighting back any strong emotions. He broke it off when he felt John's glare boring through him.  

"I'll bring you home something, Sean. Something really neat, I..." Paul's voice trailed off, lip hanging open for a moment. "I promise,"  he quickly added, picking up his bags and hurrying out before the rational voice in his head told him to stop. Even if it did, Paul would ignore it, it was already too late to back out. John wanted to be difficult, then Paul could be difficult right back. As soon as Paul was in the hallway of the building, his heart grew heavy, and evident that a terrible mistake was made. The man gazed towards the now shut door of the place he once called his home, almost tempted to open the door and brush off everything. But how could he do so now that everything was out there just like that? The answer was he couldn't. Nothing would be the same, and Paul had to accept it and leave; so he did. 

When Paul carefully stepped outside, Fred was just pulling up. He explained that John phoned him. Paul nodded and figured he might as well take the ride. During the ride to Linda’s, Fred had asked what was happening. Paul just smiled and said he was going on a little trip as the pain of his insides twisting went through his body. 

Linda let Paul into her place without too many questions. Probably saw how upset he was and knew something terrible happened. After explaining everything, Linda held the quivering man close, her hand rubbing his back. Paul could not say another word, everything being lost in shaky gasps.   

“It’s my fault,” was the only thing he could murmur. He heard Linda speaking to him, but could not understand a single word. 

*** 

February 2, 1980 

John had to rely on his alarm clock to wake him up again that morning. Slowly, he opened his eyes, despite there being dried tears from the night before. The man wouldn’t admit that he broke down each night Paul was gone, but he did. As soon as he was alone, thick tears would trickle down his face. John had slept on his own, or on the couch, but this was different. This left a horrid taste in his mouth, every morning when he woke up to nothing next to him. The warm, soft body of his boyfriend no longer taking up half of the bed. Pushing himself up, John slid his hand over the other side of the bed. He realized that he was still wearing his ring, forgetting to take it off over the course of those couple days. John felt like such a bird with the way he was acting. Sighing, John reached for his glasses beside him. 

Knees coming up to his chest, John slouched over, and stared at the wall. Maybe Paul was right, maybe John was stuck in some cycle. After all, the spot they’re in now oddly resembles the one from a few years back after The Beatles break-up. Was he just doomed to repeat his same mistakes? John tightened the hold on his knees. Was he going to fuck up with Sean too? How many people is he going to screw over by pulling them in like he did to Paul? Every time he thought or said Paul’s name, was like every emotion hit him at once.  

“Daddy?” came Sean’s voice. 

“Yeah, Sean?” John answered. 

“I’m hungry.” John stretched his arms and legs, rising from the bed. He would make sure he didn’t screw this up, no matter what Paul said. John was going to keep everything right.  

“Alright, love, I’m coming,” John said, opening the door. Peering down at the boy, John had to wonder what Sean thought of all this. He had to know what had happened, and even if he didn’t, one of his fathers left a couple days ago and hasn’t come back. Maybe Sean would end of having the same cycle as John, a thought that greatly alarmed John. Taking the boy’s hand, John lead the way to the kitchen.  

“I’ll make you something, hon.” John would make sure that Sean would never end up in the same place. He had to. 

"Ritchie?" John spoke into the phone in the other room, just quiet enough for Sean to not hear.  

"John? It's been a bit, how are things?" 

John sighed. "Paul left, Ritch." 

 _"WHAT?!"_ It sounded like Ringo had just spit out whatever was currently in his mouth. His reaction was just what John expected in all honesty. How else would one react to their friend telling them that they just split up out of the blue.  

"What happened?? I thought you two were getting married and all!"  

"Emphasis on  _"_ _were_ _,"_ Ritch," John said. "I fucked up again." 

"John, please don't blame yourself for everything," Ringo answered. "If Paul chose to...leave, then I'm sure he was part of it." 

"No, he wasn't. It's just like last time, I pulled the same bullshit I've pulled a hundred times," John argued, closing his hand into a fist. "It's just all repeating itself again like-"  _a cycle,_ John thought but forgot to say. 

"John," Ringo started, "if it is just repeating itself, Paul will be back. You'll see, he can't stay away." That's just what John feared. Paul would just come back and settle for John like before. Then it would just be a matter of time before a problem arose and he left again. How many times would this happen? Would it go on until they died? John worried so. 

"John?" 

"I'm going to go check on Sean, I'll call you back later, Ritchie." 

"It'll work out, John," he comforted. "Just give it time, everything will be back to normal." 

"Yeah, bye."  

As John wiped food from Sean's face, another thought came to John. When Paul came back before, he  _knew_ what he was getting into. If there truly was a cycle, Paul would have known to stay away, but instead he threw himself right back. The younger man sure had an idea of just what this whole cycle was, so he certainly had multiple encounters with it. So why did he come back if he knew it would happen again, if he knew John was already doomed?  

Self-pity became resentment as John realized that his boyfriend knew what he was doing, but still did it. Why should he cry for Paul if all along the man saw him as some figure of toxicity, a poison that needed to be sucked out? John swiped the napkin over Sean's mouth again. And Paul didn't just abandon John this time, now Sean was in this, the child Paul was part of deciding to have. In a way, the younger man only  _helped_ throw Sean into this mess, then ran off before he could be held responsible.  

Fine, John said to himself, if Paul wanted to go, then he can stay gone. He was John Lennon, he was stronger than this. He wouldn't just lie down and sob every night over the man, he had his own life to live. And if Paul would not be a part of it, then he didn't care.  

*** 

Exiting the plane, Paul spotted George waving him down. The man’s younger friend quickly approached him once he was on the ground, and brought him into an embrace. Paul would not deny that it was great to see his old friend again after everything that happened. The tight hug bringing his spirits up slightly, though it would not last long. These days were nothing but low points, even spending his last day in New York was one of the pains he ever felt. Confiding in Linda, telling her everything, then having the gall to also say that he would be going back to John the next day.   

“How are you doing?” George asked, letting Paul go. The two began to head in to get Paul’s bags. “How’s John?” 

“Fine, I told you everything’s fine.” 

“When’s the wedding? Have you decided on your best man?” George laughed, but Paul only feigned amusement.  

“Oh, I figured Ringo,” Paul tried to tease, but it was obvious how uncomfortable he was becoming.  

“Great packing, Paul,” George noted when Paul got his two bags. “Can you pack for me a little? You do it so neatly.” 

“I was in a bit of a rush,” he paused, “I packed the day of.” George found it funny at least, clapping Paul's back, then offering to take a bag. 

“Well, it’s great you’re here. Olivia and Dhani will be so excited to see you.” 

“Dhani?” 

“My son,” George said with the raise of one bushy eyebrow.  

“Oh, right! That’s great, Georgie, I can’t wait to meet him.” Paul faked a smile, but in reality, something about mentioning his son made Paul sick. It was a very light sickness, maybe just a spot of it somewhere, but there was suspicion that it was going to get much worse. 

The dinner that night proved him horribly right. Olivia hugged Paul and said she had prepared dinner for all of them. The man thanked her with a trademarked smile of his, letting her point out where to sit. He gulped when he saw that he would be sitting so near the child in the height chair. Even though Dhani looked nothing like Sean at that young age, it was still so difficult to look at the child. His eyes, as impossible as he knew, looked to be mocking him. He wasslowly going mental. 

The questions over the dinner were the same generic questions Paul seemed to answer over and over again, like an interrogation instead of conversation. Olivia's "friendly" questions were all the same. "How are you?" "How is John and Sean?" How is  _everything?"_ As if Paul was going to come out and say that everything is not as great as it seemed.  

'Why no, Olivia and George, nothing is alright. In fact, I'm only here to get away from John!' That would really shift conversation quite a bit. Of course, Paul did not actually say that, it was not the time or place to do so. So, in order to derail the conversation from himself, Paul asked the first thing to come to mind. 

"Dhani's getting big, ain't he?" he asked George, avoiding actually looking at the boy. 

"Almost two years old," George boasted. 

"That's great,” Paul said, scraping his fork against the plate.  

“Maybe him and Sean will become friends when they get older,” Olivia mused, eliciting a chuckle from George. 

“They could start a new band, eh, Paul?” Paul had barely heard George as he was too busy moving food around on his plate. When he actually caught his name, his head shot up. 

“Hm? Uh, yeah, yeah, wouldn’t that be funny?” Paul replied, dropping his fork, chin now in that hand. 

“So, Paul,” Olivia started, “you raised Sean since birth with John, right? I don’t want to seem weird for asking, but is one of you considered the “mom”?”  

“Last I checked we were both the “dad”,” Paul dryly answered in a way that may or may not have come off as rude. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she jumped to answer. “I just meant is one of you more...motherly, you know? Like, taking care of him more and all?"  

"Are you just hoping for a third set of hands while Paul's here?" George jokingly questioned with an eyebrow wiggle. Paul swore he wouldn't look at Dhani, but his eyes still fell on him anyways.  Again, Paul thought back to Sean, and the last glimpse of him before storming out. His sad eyes ingrained into his mind, and somehow, Paul saw them on Dhani.  

"Earth to Paul?" George tapped his shoulder, making him jump.  

"Yeah?" 

"Everything alright?" 

"Yeah, just tired from the flight is all. Would you mind if I turned in a little early?"  

"It's fine, I'll show you your room," George said, excusing the two of them from the table. There was no hesitation from Paul, who took no longer than a second to stand up and walk out, forcing himself not to glance back. 

"Is everything okay, Paul?" George asked, placing his bags down to the floor.  

"Yes, George," Paul stated as he clicked open one of the suitcases. He began to lay the rumpled clothes out.  

"You can stop lying now, we're alone. I know something happened because you've been acting weird since you arrived." 

"Do you really want to know, Geo?"  

"Yes!" George shouted. "I'm your mate, just tell me what's wrong." 

"I left John."  

"Left...?" George's eyes widened. "Like, you've broken up? You're done?"  

Paul shrugged, folding up a shirt.  

"It's complicated." 

"No shit," George said. "You just  _left_ John and Sean just like that?? Does he even actually know you're here?" 

"Yes, George! Do you have to be on my arse about this? I don't know if we're officially done, I just needed to get away from the stress, okay?!" Paul retorted, throwing down a sock to the bed. "I thought  _you_ would understand out of everyone!" 

"Paul, you can't run away from this. You need to handle it." 

"I've done nothing but handle shit, Geo, and I'm sick of it. I had to take a break from everything before I lost my mind, don't you get it?" 

"Paul...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped like that, but I know you. You won't be able to stay away from them, you'll have to go back eventually." Then came time for Paul to shut off, like he did when the conversation was over and done with for him. Paul did not give his friend an answer or even a noise, he made his expression stone-cold, and went back to unpacking.  

"Paul, don't do this," George pleaded. 

"Do what?" he inquired, with little attention to George.  

A deep sigh came from George. "Fine, I’m sorry. You can stay a couple nights, but that’s it, Paul. I’m not trying to be a horrible friend, but you need to face this.” 

“I know, Geo, I will. I just…really need some sleep. Can I get that?” Paul rasped, dropping to sit on the bed. A hand squeezed Paul’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” said George. “I’m sorry, Paul, I just don’t want my best mate to do something he’ll regret.” 

“I get it, don’t worry, George. I promise, just a couple days and I’m out.” George smiled and took his hand away.  

“Night, Paul, see you tomorrow.” Paul put up a dismissive hand and pressed his lips together as George shut the door. He slid off his trousers and shirt, then lied above the covers on the bed. The man thought about what he should do, but only came to blanks. Of course he told George what he wanted to hear, but that was what he had to do. He could not just sit there and shoot his friend down with cynicism, but that didn’t stop it from infecting his thoughts. Paul was going to do something, just not  _exactly_ what he promised.  

*** 

John just placed dinner on the table for him and Sean when the phone rang. He cursed to himself and went to go see who it was. He was a bit surprised to hear it was Linda, not a certain hazel-eyed man.  

“John is Paul there? I need to talk to him,” she said. “He hasn’t been to rehearsals, and I just want to make sure it’s all okay.” 

“What are ye talking about?” John answered. “Paul hasn’t been here since he left for yer place.”  

“What? He said he was going back home after he left my apartment.” 

“Sorry, but that was just Paul doing what he does best, just talking. He went to stay with our mate, George.” 

“When will he be back?! We have a tour, he knows this,” Linda said, utterly exasperated.  

“Who knows,” John shrugged, scratching the side of his neck. While he wished he wasn’t feeling just as angry with Paul inside for doing this to not just him, but his band, John couldn’t fight these emotions towards the younger man. He wanted to feel absolutely nothing, but that just wasn’t possible for John. Linda was now mumbling angrily to herself, probably near panic.  

“I’ve got the number,” John finally said. “You can phone him if you’d like.” 

“Yes, please,” said Linda. “Please, thank you, John.” John told her it was no problem, reciting the numbers for her while glancing to Sean at the table. The two then promptly said their goodbyes and ended the phone call, leaving John to return to dinner. 

“Don’t worry, son, I’m back. Daddy was just talking to a friend,” he told Sean.  

“Is Paul still with Uncle George, Daddy?” he answered the statement with, as though he were waiting to ask just until this moment. With his fork just about to be pushed into his mouth, John dropped it back onto his plate.  

“Yes,” he dryly answered the boy.  

“For how long?” John’s tongue grew three times its size, he had no idea how to tell his son such news. Paul’s his father, whether the man liked it or not, and it was going to devastate him.  

“I don’t know, hon, a while.”  

“Why?” Sean’s face became a little sullen with his next short question. John bit at his lip, and grazed his fingertips against the rough facial hair beginning to grow on his face. 

“Sean…Daddy and Paul just needed some space.” 

“Space?” 

“Yeah, just a little time from each other.” Sean just answered with, “oh,” and looked down at his plate. He didn’t even make a move to begin eating.  

“Is Paul mad at me?” Again, John’s fork fell before he could bring the food on the end to his mouth.  

“No, no, love, Paul isn’t mad at you. Everything’s fine,” John lied. 

“Then why’d he leave?” Sean asked, bottom lip quivering.  

“He…” John stopped, focusing intently on his next chosen words. “Paul’s tour is starting very early, so he wanted to visit George before he gets too busy.” 

“Aren’t you going, Daddy?”  _Damn._  

“Not this time.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s too early for yer Daddy, love. I’d rather be here with you,” John lied, smooshing his lips to Sean’s cheek. Sean whined and giggled at his father squishing his cheek. 

“So Paul will be back after?”  Another question and another grit of John’s teeth. Of course he shouldn’t be lying to his son, but he was almost in a corner with this. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth to his boy. One day he would tell, but for now empty hope was the only thing he could provide.  

“Yeah, yeah he will.” 

***

February 5, 1980 

Clothes were packed away again, though much neater than before. The feeling of exhaustion that Paul was somehow able to ward off over the short amount of time returned with its same strangulating hold. Olivia offered Paul to at least stay for lunch, but Paul politely refused, already hearing George at the back of his head. Even if he was practically dragging himself, Paul could not stay, George would not allow it. The last click of the suitcase was followed by the call of his name from George. Paul answered, wondering if it were some last minute lecture before he would leave for New York. The door cracked open with George’s head only coming through.  

“Phone for you,” said George. 

“Who?” Paul felt he already knew just who it could be. Who else would have the number to call for Paul? 

“It’s, er, Linda.”  _Oh._ “Don’t know how she got the number.” Paul knew the answer. 

“Think I have an idea.” 

“Either way, she asked, well,  _demand,_ I get you.”  

And she was certainly  _pissed_ when he brought the receiver to his ear, raving about how she had been wondering where he’s been. The first day he didn’t show up for rehearsal, she just assumed it was just Paul sorting out any other issues, but then another day he was missing, then another, until she finally phoned the apartment. Linda explained that John told her how Paul left for George’s home, and even gave her the phone number.  

“I can’t believe this! You said you were going back to John  _that night!_  Now you’re hiding away somewhere??” she hollered. Paul wanted to apologize for having her worry and panic, but what good would sorry do now? 

“And What about the tour, Paul? What about rehearsals? Shall we just skip them until the tour?” 

“Linda.” 

“Better yet, why don’t we just skip the whole damn tour!” 

“Linda!” Paul shouted this time, getting a look from Olivia, who was just trying to pass by. The man flushed and brought his lips closer to the receiver. “Linda, listen, I’m coming back to today, I’ll go straight to the studio.” 

“So it’s worked out with John?” 

“Er, no, not exactly, I didn’t tell him I was leaving just yet…” 

“What do you intend to do then, Paul? Sleep in the studio?” There was a hint of condescension in her voice that made Paul’s fingers slightly twitch with annoyance.  

“If I have to,” Paul said. “That or maybe you could-“ 

“Paul,” she groaned in irritation.  

“Just for a couple days, please.” 

“I don’t like this, Paul. He’s your boyfriend, and I don’t like enabling whatever it is you're doing.” 

“I know, it’s just- I just need a little more time, not forever. Please?” Paul quietly pleaded, his voice so low that he worried Linda had not even heard him. 

“When you get back to New York, come to my place,” she answered coolly. “One night, that’s it.” Despite wanting to beg for at least another night, Paul begrudgingly agreed. 

“Thank you, and uh, don’t tell John I’m in New York, yeah?” 

“I don’t like this one bit, Paul.” 

“I know, I know. It’s just one night.” 

“Fine, see you soon,” Linda curtly said before hanging up the phone. Paul still held the receiver in his palm. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of actually calling or seeing John again, to face him and hear just what an idiot he was for all this. He would of course get all of the blame, but still, he had to make up with John. At least, according to everyone on the outside that just wants them back to their little status quo. Paul wanted to fight that off, and elongate this maybe out of some masochistic reasoning.  

But he couldn’t. This was not everyone else’s problem, and he was throwing them in. For better or worse, Paul would have to do something. 

Paul brought the receiver back up and put in John’s number. 

“Yeah?” John said into the phone, awaiting an answer.  

“Hey, Johnny,” came Paul’s quiet and clearly uncomfortable voice. 

“What do you want, Paul?” 

“I’m about…I’m about to be leaving George’s.” 

“Are ye now? Going off to Ritchie’s next?” he said in a condescending voice. His words practically melted and leaked through the phone, trickling into his ear. A shiver shook Paul, regretting this call already.  

“No, I want to talk, John.” 

“And what if I don’t, dear?” John scoffed.  

“John, be serious please. I want to talk to you, I think it would be best if we-“ 

“Oh, so now you know what’s best?” John retorted. “You just wanna tell me how wrong I was this whole time?” 

“Stop,” Paul said, knitting his brow. He almost forgot where he was until he glanced over at a watchful George who shortly turned away, pretending to not be listening. “I never said you were wrong.” 

“No, that I was just some weight dragging you down, yeah?”  

“John, please, I-I want…I want to go back to how we were, okay?” Paul responded, only half-meaning what he said. Still, a part screamed to stop himself from talking. “Can I just come back home so we can talk?”  

John’s answer came so quick and swiftly, as if John was already prepared to snap back ahead of time. 

“Okay, I’m just supposed to drop to my knees and welcome you back into “our”home? Is that what you want now? You  _chose_ to go, I didn’t kick you out or push you away, I tried to make it work. I  _tried_ so hard to make what we had grow, but you just left.” 

“I  _know_ ,” Paul grit his teeth. “I understand, John, I bloody well know what I did, but all I’m asking for is that we talk.” 

“I don’t want you back in the apartment, so let’s get that straight,” John told him right away, not even acknowledging Paul’s sentence. The statement was so short but enough to actually knock into Paul’s gut like a swinging fist. He couldn’t believe how badly it hurt. “And I don’t just mean to talk, I mean when yer back. If you want to try working on this, you can get yer own place. There’s an open apartment down the hall, you can try that, but that’s it. Okay?” John’s voice was cold and distant as he explained. His tone never shifted from the one dry note it carried, keeping very stable and almost uncaring about what Paul were to do. 

“Okay, fine,” Paul said then added a hopeful, “I’m sorry.” John hummed in disbelief and hung up.  

Paul did do so once he left George’s. He never mentioned the call, and he guessed George didn’t have it in him to ask about it. Though, once or twice it looked like it was bouncing around in his mind to question it. But he didn’t, and Paul left on his own once more. 

Upon his arrival, Paul looked into the apartment and was able to rent it out almost immediately. Despite Linda’s stern answer, she did allow him two nights rather than one before he could finally move in. Of course he had to stop by the old apartment to collect anything not thrown away into his suitcases. John was interestingly enough not home with Sean, but Paul thankfully still had a key and alerted John with a little note on the inside of the door. 

 The two never did actually get together to talk. 

 The younger man gave his best effort after to contact John, but was given little to respond to. The man he once was about to marry now avoiding him like a plague. 

***

May 26, 1980  

As the months passed, his attempts dwindled like a dying fire, left to sit and fade. Paul decided he would instead focus on rehearsal, using it as some way to drone out the urges to knock on the door to, now only John’s, apartment, and demand they speak. His mood drop was clear to his bandmates, though if asked, Paul would either brush it off or get defensive until he was finally left alone on the subject. Then came the tour, it seemed to be right around the corner for Paul. 

Every day beforehand was so seemingly slow and painful, now it was suddenly kicked up to a whole new speed; each day feeling like a blink. The man could not even believe it when it was the night of, and something told him that he absolutely had to see John and Sean.  

So, with all his false courage, Paul willed himself to exit his apartment, drag his feet along, and lift his now lead hand to the door. 

He stood and waited for the smallest sign of an answer. Then he knocked again and looked into the small peephole in the door. He would bet his entire fortune that the older man was looking through, just waiting for him to go away. It only took one last ignored lock which resulted in a defeated Paul carrying himself away from the door.  

He turned to look over his shoulder one more time, but there was still nothing. 

*** 

November 15, 1980 

John was fully aware that Paul was back from tour since September. He would not admit it, but he had been keeping up with news on Paul's tour, going as far as to actually watch little interviews and news appearances he had made every so often. The older man could not tell why he did so, but there was almost a need to keep checking up on the man, despite ignoring him for months on end.  

It was obvious to John that Paul had given up on confronting him, and he would tell himself over and over about how he could not care less about that.  

But the truth was that he did in a way. 

John wanted to hear that knock on the door one last time. To hear that little action of determination from his ex, even if it would go unheard. He realized how ridiculous he must have seemed in his own head, thinking like a self-absorbed bastard wanting attention from a man he basically cut all ties with. 

He jumped when a rapping came at his door, as if his own thoughts echoed throughout the building. Though, it could only be Yoko bringing Sean home from a little outing he allowed her to do. Either way, John went to the door, expecting to see the woman and child, but that was not the case. 

It was Paul, awkwardly smiling and holding his arm.  

"Hey, John."  

The older man crossed his arms and let an impassive expression spread across his face.  

"Hey. Back from tour?" 

"Yeah, been back for a couple months. I tried coming by but I guess you weren't home." Paul made no move from his spot in the doorway, rocking on his heels. There was definitely a question on his mind, and John already knew what it was. The man stood there so uncomfortably, like John was a stranger he needed to borrow sugar from or something. "I thought that maybe-" 

"You wanna come in?" he offered thanks to some part of his brain that produced the nerve to ask. The younger man brightened up at the question like an excited puppy. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, come on," John said, walking inside, expecting the man to follow to the living room. He must have as the next question to follow could only form after looking around the room. 

"You've taken down a lot of pictures," Paul observed, and it was true. After Paul left, the first thing John did was remove any picture of the younger man. The two dropped to the couch, keeping the largest amount of distance between each other. 

"Yeah, I did," John shortly responded.  

Silence between the two again, tension now thick as the strongest fog. 

"You doing alright? You and Sean?" Paul asked and John bit back a smartass answer.  

"Yep." 

"That's good." 

"Yeah. You?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Hm."  

Another interval of horrid silence.  

"Sean with Yoko?" Paul spoke up, but this time John didn't waste his breath with a verbal answer, and nodded. He heard a light sigh from the younger man. 

John mimicked the breath, noticing how the weight of the couch shifted its weight when Paul rose from it. John's head shot around to spot Paul walking to the white piano that sat untouched for so long. John could see how Paul's hand slid across the surface of the cover, then hooking his fingers under it to reveal the keys.  

His fingers tapped a few keys, playing along to a random song that came to Paul. It was short and surprisingly upbeat for such an uncomfortable situation. 

But that was Paul, always keeping it positive. Or at least trying to. 

"Feels a bit déjà vu," John mused, now standing behind the man.  

"Yeah, a bit circa 1974, eh?" Paul chuckled, still playing along. His nimble fingers working the keys like it was nothing. John didn't know what came over him as he sat on the bench, urging Paul to make room, which he did without question. . The older man actually found himself captivated by the music, and found himself playing along on the other side. It was that damn music McCartney played so beautifully, it never failed to pull John in 

The men actually played together like nothing was hanging at the air, playing at opposite sides, then slowly meeting to the middle. The hands crossed over, reaching to the keys on each other's side. They had not even noticed the tips of their noses being inches apart until they actually looked up from the keys, coming out of their musical trance.  

John forgot to breathe for a moment, his hands flying up from the piano once he came to. He did not, however, make a move to back away from Paul's face until the younger man made the move to shyly turn his head away. The music ended after that, the mood reverting back to what it just was. Or it would, except this time, John would not allow it. He finally spoke up with an actual sentence.  

"How was yer tour anyway?" Paul grinned, happy to tell the man just how it went.  

Back on the couch, Paul went on about all the little things that occurred while on tour with his band. Laughing, actual full laughter, about the crazy fans and stories he got from meeting them. He even told John about how an older woman threw underwear towards him on stage, forcing a laugh out of John. The older man listened to intently, the air finally loosening up between them as he went on. The older man never mentioned how he knew a lot about Paul's little adventures through interviews, feeling surprisingly enthralled with his retelling. 

Again, the moment got to the pair as his stories continued. John did not realize how close they were again, the space between them on the couch again no longer there. It was only until John could smell the smoky breath of the younger man that the closeness was clear again.  

Hazel and Brown eyes locked in a gaze, unable to break even if they wanted to. Silence reigned supreme over them again. 

Silence became something more, it became the closure of the last bit of space between their faces as their lips met. It was a short yet fire-filled meet, sparks clicking until small sprites of fire danced in their hearts.  

The fire was then stomped out as quick as it was made when they separated. Small pants between the two as their hearts seemed to synchronize in their hard beats.  

Then the moment fell and shattered into millions of pieces, the awkwardness returning. John's gaze finally dropped to his feet, his throat feeling like it was filled with sand and rusty nails all of the sudden. 

"I'm sorry," Paul said nervously.  

"No you're not," John responded, not in a cruel or mocking way, just as a regular statement, void of any emotion. 

"I should go," Paul said, getting up.  

"Yeah I suppose."  

"Well, bye," Paul mumbled, about to walk out of the living room. 

"Paul," John said, still in this average voice. He didn't look up, but he knew Paul had turned to him. "If you'd like...you...you can stop by sometime soon to see Sean, alright?" He knew, he just knew, that that was all it took to create this hopeful voice in Paul as he spoke. 

"Yeah, I'd love to," he said, then left without another word. John made no move until the door shut, confirming that Paul was gone. He rested his forehead in one hand, digging calloused fingertips into the skin. He focused on his breathing for a few minutes, feeling more confused and lost than ever. What happened just then, was not supposed to happen. It was all getting muddled and odd, and John wasn't even sure where he stood anymore. That sickening feeling of love and whatever was there before not attacking and twisting up his insides like pretzels.  

But was that so bad? Yes, no, maybe, but John had no answer.  

Paul stopped by a day later to see Sean, who happily welcomed the man with childish glee. It had been a while since Sean had been  _that_ excited at the sight of someone, though it had to be months since he had even seen his father.  

When Paul came by, John kept the conversations short, but not necessarily unenjoyable. They began to speak with each other a bit like before, but something was still stinking in the air for them that held the two back from much more. And although John could feel those feelings for Paul returning, he kept it down and battled with them. 

He would not allow himself to fall into any of his own traps. 

*** 

 

December 9, 1980 

A phone call from Julian came in the other night, reminding John of his visit. It had been short and quick, but his son still sounded just as excited. The older man slapped himself for almost forgetting, but once again succumbed to that joyful thought of seeing his son again. A thought like that was needed to keep himself sane after this whole year. 

John almost ran to tell Paul of the news, but stopped himself short. It had been months since Paul began to live in a separate apartment, but John still had this reflex that acted as if he were still in the same room. A weird pang of emptiness came after, but John chose to ignore it. He would not let this ruin finally seeing Julian again. 

John met Julian at the airport, eagerly waiting for his son. He at last saw the young boy searching around for a familiar face, and called for him. Julian turned his attention, and hurried over to the man, instantly brought into an embrace. 

“How’ve ye been, Jules?” 

“Good, Dad,” Julian said, removing himself from John’s arms. “What about you and Paul?” John’s smile waned at his question.  

He cleared his throat and coughed. “Well, there’s a few things you should know, I’ll explain in the car.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Jules, just- I’ll explain, yeah?” John patted Julian, taking his bags into his own hands. 

The ride was an awkward travesty, building up to disaster. Julian listened to his father, nodding and rubbing his hands. John figured this would not have been as effective on Julian, but he supposed that that was just another mistake to add to the list. 

Paul had just stepped out of his apartment, most likely hearing John. The older man cursed to himself once they were noticed by Paul. He shot them a friendly smile and approached them.  

“Hello, Jules!” Paul called in a sing-song tone. “I didn’t know you were visiting New York!” he said, shooting in his hazel eyes to John expectantly. 

“Slipped my mind to tell you I suppose,” John said.  

“Well it’s great to see you,” Paul shrugged off.  

“Great to see you too, Paul,” Julian slowly answered. 

“So, what were you going to do your first day here?”  

“Dad was gonna show me Central Park with Sean.” 

“Among other things,” John added on. Paul nodded along. There was a sense of uncomfortableness emanating from the younger man as he inhaled through his nose. Then, he sucked on his own bottom lip, holding back whatever he wanted to say. This was not at all how John pictured the reunion with Julian to go back when he called John months ago. More upbeat and happier conversations, not these short lived, deathly one. Paul did it to himself, he could have had that, and so horribly  _knows_ that. John could read his thought a mile away.  

“Maybe you’d like to come in and catch up a little?” Paul asked Julian hopefully. “Y’know, while John goes and gets Sean.” 

“Is that alright, Dad?”  

“Don’t see why not,” John shrugged, pushing his glasses up. “We’ll meet you on the first floor in ten minutes, yeah? I’ll let Yoko know to check on the place later and all.” A beam of light passed through the grateful younger man, a noiseless thank you transmitted to John. Of course he didn’t  _need_ ten minutes to get his son, talk to Yoko, and take an elevator, but for some reason he wanted Paul to have this time.  

Did he deserve it? John didn’t have the answer to that. Maybe he’d think of one during his ten minute wait. 

One hand holding Sean's, John left the apartment building with just the two of them. Julian soon followed behind, getting caught up in talking to Paul that he had not realized the two already left. John noted on how confused Julian seemed after speaking to Paul, looking to have something to say. 

"Something the matter?" John queried, stopping in his place. Julian shrugged. 

"What happened between you guys?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Why is Paul living across from you? I thought you were getting married. Are you?" John exhaled, squeezing Sean's hand. He really didn't want Sean to hear this about his fathers, he didn't want all of this to be shoved into his childish mind. 

"It's complicated, Jules," John began. "Listen I-" 

"Mr. Lennon?" John sharply turned to the source of the voice. A rounder man in a long coat approached him, pushing his glasses up when he stopped in front of the man and his children. "I'm a huge fan, I saw you and wanted to know if I could get an autograph?" John, slightly irked that he was just interrupted by a fan, still did not want to turn him down. He felt around until he found a pen, and clicked the end of it. 

"Have you got anything?" John asked, gesturing with the pen. The man quickly produced an old piece of paper, which John took to quickly sign. “What’s yer name?” 

“Mark,” he answered, which John wrote shortly after, repeating it under his breath.  

“There you go.”  

"I met Paul months ago, you know, but he didn't even have a pen." John lifted an eyebrow, his sunglasses going down his nose slightly. He had to wonder why the man was telling him this. Though, he did note how his eyes narrowed slightly when he mentioned Paul. 

"Probably wasn't expecting a fan." 

"But you were." He pointed a chubby finger towards John, who was starting to become engulfed by an odd feeling towards this man. The way he stared at him through his glasses, and how the man firmly gripped the signed paper. John pulled Sean closer to himself, and wrapped his other arm around Julian, turning and leading them away. 

"Right well, bye then," John said, not turning back to look at the man.  

“Is Paul with you still?” he suddenly asked.  

“Erm… what?” 

“Just wondering if you've moved on from the marriage thing.” 

“I don’t think that’s yer business,” John pushed the two children along, stepping farther away. “Anyways, we really have to go. Come on.” John hurried away, blocking out anything else the man might add. He checked one last time behind them, they weren’t being followed.  

The man was gone from his sight, but that did not take away the heaviness John was beginning to feel. 

The three returned to the apartment later that day as the sun was starting to set. John watched as Sean brought the lid of the hot chocolate he bought him up to his lips, advising the child to be careful. Julian only added to also be careful after accidentally spilling a little on himself.  

"I'm sorry which one of you is six years old again?" John asked, only to get a fake glare from Julian.  

"It was just filled up really high," he defended, taking another sip. When they reached the building, John passed Sean over to Julian. 

"Wait for me inside," John instructed, pulling out a cigarette, "I don't want the two of you freezing over me." Julian obliged, taking Sean just inside the doors of the building while John lit his cigarette. As he breathed out a puff of smoke, he had not noticed the man approaching him.  

"Mr. Lennon?" 

Then the bang of a gunshot. 

*** 

Paul locked the door of his place, making his way down the hall to John’s apartment, intending to see if he had returned with Sean and Julian. Rapping his knuckles against the door, there came no response. He tried again, and this time the door opened, but it wasn’t at all who he expected. Yoko was in the doorway, crossing her arms, and eyeing the man up and down.  

“Is John back?” asked Paul, trying to peek around the woman.  

She shook her head. “Not yet.” 

“Why are you here?”  

“I came to check on John too,” she answered, not moving from her blocking position. Paul stepped forward, looking for a way around her. 

“Could I come in?” Yoko stared at him for a minute, shrugged, then stepped inside. 

“You still live across the hall?”  

“Yeah,” Paul dryly said. “John and I still have a few rough patches to work out, but I think it’ll go back to normal soon.” Paul didn’t know why he was telling Yoko all this. Why did she have to know the ins and outs of their current relationship?  

“Hm, I see,” said the seemingly disinterested woman. She paced around the room, looking around like she’s never been there before. “Then how long?” 

“How long what?” 

“How long until you pull something like this again?”  

“Excuse me?” he darkly asked, breathing cut short. 

“How long until you hurt him again, Paul?” she swiftly shot him a glance, continuing her little walk around.  

“ _I_ hurt  _him?”_ Paul slapped a hand to his chest. “That figures you take a side, specifically John’s even if you know the whole story,” Paul began to rave.  

“I’m not taking a side, I’m saying what I see.” 

“Sure,” Paul nodded with disbelief. “I know you can’t stand me, Yoko, you’ve made it very clear. I  _know_ I treated you like shit in the sixties, but I’ve apologized for  _ten years_. Why do you still hate me?!” Then she stopped, standing in place. 

“I don’t hate you for how you treated me! It’s how you treat John! You led him on for  _years,_ promising this whole future with him, and then when he actually wants that, you tore it away. I’m angry because I’ve seen how you treated him, like you’re  _ashamed!”_  There was that word again, the same one John threw towards him. Paul wanted to feel anger, to be able to defend himself against everything she lobbed at him, but he couldn’t. The truth was that she was right, he did lead him along, always making promises he could never keep. And John just forgavehim, just like Paul complained that he had to do. Looking around at the empty, plain walls, Paul saw that they were both guilty in a sense. They were both in their own cycles, but maybe it was up to them to work together to break them. The problem was that they never even gave it a chance to do so, they just let it happen.  

Paul didn’t answer, he just rubbed his neck uncomfortably. He left the room to continue back to his own place, not even saying goodbye.  

When the door opened, the phone was ringing endlessly, as if urgently beckoning him. Normally when he was in a low mood like this, Paul would let it ring, but something about this time gave him a sickly feeling. Paul held his phone close, speaking “hello,” almost in a whisper. 

“Mr. McCartney?” a woman spoke.  

“Yes? Who is this?” 

“This is the Roosevelt Hospital, you were listed as Mr. Lennon’s first emergency contact.” John actually put his new number as emergency contact, but Paul was not exactly concerned about that. 

 Paul’s stomach dropped as the woman paused, waiting for him to tell her to go on.  

“What’s happened?” 

“Mr. Lennon, he’s currently in intensive care for multiple gunshot wounds.”  

The phone dropped out of his sweaty hands, hanging from the mini table it sat on, just touching the floor. The world spun around the man, everything suddenly kicked into turbo as his adrenaline coursed through his veins. 

 Paul didn’t bother to hang up the phone or grab a coat, swinging open his door to find Yoko there about to knock. She clearly saw how terrified he appeared. 

“What’s going on?”  

“John…John’s been shot,” Paul said, pushing her out of the way. She soon ran up behind him, her face now just as pale as his own.  

“Where is he?!” 

“Roosevelt Hospital,” Paul gasped, pressing the elevator button multiple times before growing too impatient, and breaking towards the stairs. Yoko of course followed, both too hyped up on fear towards John’s state to even feel the pain of going down so many flights of stairs.  

Paul’s lungs burned and ached, but he just had to get to John. He had to get to him before it was too late. Oh God, he mentally prayed that John was alive.  

Over and over, he repeated that he was going to be fine, not wanting to look at any other option for his mental sake.  

The whiteness of the walls and lights of the hospital blinded Paul as he stormed through the doors with Yoko. Sweat pouring down his face and staining his clothes. Violently shaking hands clinged to the help desk like it would run away while he asked for John. The woman gave them the floor and room number he was now put in, and she didn’t have another second to say much else. The two bolted off, ignoring the scolds for running in the hospital. 

A doctor emerged from John’s room as Paul came to a screeching halt in front of him. The man held out his hand for Paul to shake, which he did so as he gulped air into his fire-filled lungs.  

“Doctor Williams, and you must be Paul McCartney.” 

“I am,” he panted, wiping the sweat of his hand on his pants after getting it back. “J-John…” 

“Yes, Mr. Lennon-“ 

“Just tell me if he’s alive, please!” Paul pleaded, his muscles turning to jelly due to his adrenaline finally dying down.  

“Mr. Lennon is alive, luckily only one bullet went straight through his shoulder, while the others missed or grazed him. We’re currently stabilizing him at the moment, so please have a seat,” Williams pointed to the plastic chairs against the wall, two of which were occupied by Julian and Sean. Julian was staring off into space, unable to process anything for the time, while Sean had been sniffling. Paul hurried to a chair next to Julian, scooping Sean up, and holding him tightly. The boy curled up closer to Paul, welcoming his hold and holding onto him like he were his actual mother. Shushes and coos drifted to Sean, trying their best to calm the greatly shaken boy. 

“How did this happen?” Paul asked Julian. The teenager shook his head, wiping at his eye. 

“I don’t know, we just went inside to wait for Dad, and then we heard something,” Julian mumbled. “When we went outside Dad was-“ he shuddered, “he was on the ground.” It looked to physically pain the boy to keep talking, so Paul didn’t press for anymore. He didn’t need anymore imagery.  

Yoko was sitting next to Paul, her fingers rubbing her temples. Paul watched as she took a long breath, and sat up straight, then reached over to stroke Sean’s hair. 

“Want me to take him?” Yoko queried, but Paul shook his head. Sean in one arm, Paul used his other to rest on Julian’s back, sliding up to tenderly squeeze the back of his neck. 

After two agonizing hours, the doctor emerged, removing his rubber gloves. Paul had not moved from his position once, never taking his hand off of Julian, or putting Sean down. Looking up with him with hopeful eyes, Paul questioned how he was.  

“Mr. Lennon has been stabilized, and is currently waking up now,” he said, flipping through papers. “However, he will need to keep from any strenuous activity to avoid tearing the stitches.” Paul nodded and finally let Sean down. He stood to his feet and gestured for the three to follow, but the doctor held a hand up. 

“Can’t I see him?”  

“I’m sorry, visiting is for direct family for the time.” Paul narrowed his eyes towards the man, flaring his nostrils. 

“I’m sorry??” Paul had to see John, he couldn’t go much longer without seeing the man alive with his own eyes. His heart rate began to increase as the doctor refused his access. “I-I  _am_ direct family! I’m his  _husband_ for God’s sake!” Doctor Williams flipped through his papers once more. 

“It says here that Mr. Lennon is currently single, sir.” 

“We’re about to be married, we’re engaged, that should count for  _something!”_  Paul shouted, outraged and uncaring if he was drawing attention to himself. “Please, I  _have_ to see him,  _PLEASE!”_  

Doctor Williams looked at his papers again, as though in a deep thought, then back at the nearly hysterical man. Paul honestly felt like he would go insane if he couldn’t get in, fully ready to continue fighting the doctor’s denial. Blood ran through his veins like race horses, with a feeling of both incredibly cold and hot at the same time.  

Finally, the doctor looked Paul up and down one last time before finally breaking. He stepped aside and told him to not cause any trouble. Paul eagerly agreed, turning to Yoko before heading in. She was just standing there, watching him. Before going in with Sean and Julian, Paul approached the woman.  

“I-“ 

“It’s fine, I’ll wait to see him,” she waved Paul away, taking her seat again. She then motioned for him to go ahead, and actually gave him a quick, supportive smile. Thanking her, Paul turned away, towards the room.  

A distinct, sickeningly strong smell of medicines and disinfectant made itself known to Paul’s senses as he entered. He coughed once, then again, the heavy stink suffocating him.  

“Well, well, who let this little boy in,” came a weak voiced John. Paul swallowed hard at the sight of the man with tubes in his arms and his face a little paler than usual. He was laughing towards Sean who happily shouted and hopped.  

Paul’s legs refused to move, forcing him to be a voyeur of John speaking to his sons in a gentle, weakened voice. Julian laughed at something John said while furiously wiping his eyes away. Then, John moved his head towards Paul which almost caused him to break down right there.  

“Now why’d you have to go and worry me,” Paul joked, voice cracking. He sat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to run his fingers through John’s hair.  

“Can’t help it love, I’m always getting into trouble,” John said, visibly trying to get closer to Paul. Paul heard Julian chuckle, saying something about giving them a few minutes before taking Sean just outside. John’s brown eyes pierced through the younger man like the sharpest arrow.  

Lost in the study of his warm eyes, Paul saw so much yet so little. Every emotion hit him at once with the fullest force, the dam behind his eyes breaking.  

The younger man’s hands held at the bedsheets, studying the texture under his fingertips. It was kind of soft, but not nearly as comfortable as a normal bed. 

“You can touch me, you know,” John chuckled. “I won’t break.” 

“Scared I’ll mess something up,” Paul replied. "Might end up pulling a tube out." 

“I heard you out there, you know,” said John. 

“Oh,” Paul said, flustering at his outburst, “Did you now?” 

“You called me yer husband,” John teased, poking his tongue out. He was trying to be playful and joking, even in a hospital bed with a bullet wound. Paul thought he would breakdown just as John spoke, but tried so hard to hold back. He rubbed his wrist, trying to distract himself from doing so. 

“I suppose I did,” Paul said, heart sinking. There was a pain in his jaw as it tightened, the muscles in his face seemingly burned while he tried to hold back the inevitable tears.  

“Paul,” John spoke up, knowing fully well what was to come.  

“John,” Paul broke, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I led you on, I’m sorry for leaving,” Paul babbled, hot, fat tears breaking loose.  

“Paul, please,” John said, rubbing Paul’s thigh, “it’s fine, really.” 

“No, it’s not fine!” This time, Paul made no endeavor to hide or hold back, letting them leak and drip down his face as a sob wracked through him. “I’m sorry for hurting you and Sean.” A familiar touch was on the younger man’s cheek, swiping the droplets, then migrating to the back of his head to pull him downward.  

“Paul, stop.” Their noses bumped each other, and Paul shut his eyes for just a moment only to hear a sniffle from John.  

Paul opened his eyes at last, the brown in his eyes drowned out by tears.  

“Great, now you’ve got me acting like a baby,” John laughed, holding Paul in place. “I’m sorry too, Paul. I’m sorry for going behind yer back and dragging you into this shitty cycle over and over.” 

“I’ve been doing the same thing, love. I’ve just been telling you all this bullshit and you put up with it. Christ, I’m sorry,” he apologized again, the muscles in his face tightening again for another sob. 

“So we’re both bastards, lovely. Maybe that’s what attracted me to you.” 

“Very funny, John, but we can work through this together. We just have to actually try, y’know?” Paul found himself controlling his breaths once again, the water from his eyes beginning to dry at last.  

“We will, Macca,  _I will_. I don’t want to live without you, Paul. You not in the same room as me, the same bed is fucking killing me,” John said into Paul’s ear, their cheeks pressed together. “I want you to move back in, I want to try this again. Will you?” Paul lifted his head a little, thinking he was becoming delirious. Did John actually just ask him that? 

“Are you sure you want me back, Johnny?” Paul asked, licking his bottom lip.  

“Yeah, I know how I seemed when you called months ago, but I was just still so angry with everything. But this just...it just made me realize that I can’t live whatever I have left angry with you. I want this, Paul, please?” Paul sat there, transfixed on John’s words.  

There was no chance for an answer to slip out, or even another question from Paul as John pushed their lips together. His lips were dry and cracked, but neither mattered to a caught off guard Paul, too busy controlling the spinning in his head. The hand of the older man held him in place, tangling in the greying lock, a low groan escaping. Paul swore he heard Julian gag before running back outside. He wanted to pull away, but this just felt too great, too right. John's lips on his, their bodies so close, it was the most  _right_ he felt in a long time.  

Everything was going to be alright. 

*** 

December 25, 1980 

Sean excitedly ran to the wrapped boxes under the tree, his squeals growing louder when he actually grabbed one of the boxes to shake around. John called to him to not do that, as he might break something, but he was sure Sean barely heard him. Julian, being the tough teenager he claimed to be, even rushed over to the tree which John couldn't help but laugh at. He appreciated that Cynthia allowed him to stay with them at least until Christmas, it was a great help to have not only his boyfriend again, but his eldest son.  

John walked with his arm around Paul's waist, and Paul's arm resting around his neck, still trying to handle his husband with utmost care. Both adorned red and white robes that only slightly revealed the corner of the bandages John had around his shoulder.  _For the occasion_ , Paul persuaded him the night before when he revealed to have bought them when they went shopping for the two boys. John couldn't complain, they were too damn soft to do so. That or he was too damn soft.  

The two opened their gifts with such joy, thanking the two men profusely after each one. John reclined against the sofa, still attached at the hip to Paul. This was what it felt like to have a family, John told himself. And it felt great because it was his family, and now it was Paul's. Sean came over to them, crawling into John's lap, thanking him again.  

John shook his head. "You should be thanking Paul too, hon, he picked out most of everything." 

"Thank you, Paul!" he shrieked, then giggled. Paul took him from John, holding him in his arms. 

"Sean," he started, "I don't want you to call me Paul." Tilting his head, both John and Sean questioned what he meant. 

"What is he gonna call you, love, if not Paul?"   

"I...I want you to call me Papa, Sean," Paul said, his eyes now on John for some sort of approval. Of course John was surprised to hear that, his jaw falling open. "It's a special nickname just for you to use." 

"Do ye mean it, Paul?"  

"Yes, I want this. Can you do that for me, Sean?"  

"Yes, Pau-Papa," the little boy answered, already seemingly warmed up to the nickname and happy to have his own name to call Paul. John saw as Paul pressed a kiss to Sean's cheek before letting him go back to the tree. Julian was turned to them, his face lit up and filled with an incredible joy towards the two men. 

"Is this alright with you, John?" Paul asked. 

"Of course, Paul. This is what I've wanted, I've told you that." 

"I know, I just wasn't sure if I still had that chance." 

"You'll always have that chance, love." 

"Does that mean I still have the chance to..." Paul's voice trailed off. John caught his breath, anticipating the next part of the sentence. 

"To?" 

"To marry you?"  

"Do you still want to?" 

"Yes, God yeah I do," Paul said, snuggling closer and taking John's hand. John blushed when Paul took notice that John still wore his ring. "Have you still got my ring...?" 

"Yes, you git. I never got rid of it." 

"Then-then I want to get married, John. As soon as possible." 

"We'll go to the courthouse, Paul, and get it done there. Make it all official and everything." 

"Are you sure? It's not some big ceremony or anything." 

"I don't care, Paulie. I just wanna be with you, alright?" The younger man's eyes didn't dart around, he didn't bite his lip, or do anything to show nervousness. His eyes remained on John's in thought. The older man had to wonder what was going on behind those eyes sometimes. This time he was at least sure that it was certainly something good turning the cogs in his brain. 

"Alright," he finally replied, a grin spreading over his face, accompanied by a faint blush. Then they connected their lips, slow and carefully as if it was their first time all over again. John's eyes fell shut, the wet feeling of two lips opening against him suddenly halted by a noise from Julian. 

"Do you have to do this here?" he groaned, causing them to break away once they remembered they weren't alone. They giggled embarrassedly, glancing to each other. Paul always had a way of making John feel like a teenager again with that face and smile. With Paul, John was sure he would never truly grow old. 

*** 

December 31, 1980 

Another stream of wine slipped down John's throat, spreading a warmth that reached his fingertips and toes. Paul took the liberty of pouring himself another glass, neither caring about the hangover they were at risk with.  

They were officially married, albeit through a single visit to the courthouse, but married nonetheless. After making it official just the day after Christmas, the men of course phoned George and Ringo, both congratulating them on finally going through with it. Even Yoko stopped by to says so as well, for once giving Paul a small smile.  

That was all John could hope from her, after all.  

Julian also seemed pleased that his father appeared genuinely happy. He hugged them both and promised he would come back to New York again sometime soon before leaving. John looked forward to that day, feeling as though it would not be that far away. 

Then came New Years Eve, a whole year since John had proposed to Paul. Rather than go out, John wanted nothing more than to keep to themselves and not share each other with the outside. When Sean fell asleep, the wine was brought out, and the two gladly drank to their marriage and the upcoming new year.  

Once they had gone through two glasses each by eleven-forty, Paul proposed to John that they take this to the bedroom, to which he eagerly agreed. Tiptoeing passed Sean's room, the couple quickly shut and locked the door, then attached to each other once more.  

"John," Paul gasped as his husband licked along the nape of his neck. 

"Hm?" 

"I want you to have me," he said, choking back a moan.  

"You do?" John stopped his actions, waiting for an affirmation from Paul.  

"Yes, Johnny, I want you, and I want you now," Paul asserted, dragging John forward to the bed, and let them both fall into it. With a bounce, John landed on Paul, and adjusted his position so that he was hovering over him, right between his legs. Paul took to unzipping and sliding down his trousers while John stretched to get to the bottle of lube in the drawer. He tossed the bottle in one hand, then continued to dig around again until finding a wrapped condom.  

"John, I'm fairly sure I haven't got any diseases," Paul chuckled. 

"Extra lubrication, love. Been a while for you." Paul hummed, sitting up a little to be able to unbutton John's shirt and slip it off. Calloused fingers explored his exposed upper body, stopping short at the still healing scar on his shoulder where he had been shot. 

“It’s fine,” John assured. “Just be gentle.”  

Paul nodded, lightly ghosting over the area. When John had not done much else than slightly wince, the younger man continued his work. John squirmed when the warmth of Paul's mouth wrapped around one of his nipples. Cold air soon replaced that warmth when Paul detached his lips, falling back on the bed with his legs opening. Swallowing hard, John propped the hairy, yet pale legs on his shoulders, staring at the body of the man under him. 

"And yer completely fine with this, Paulie?" 

"Yes, John, love," Paul huffed impatiently. "I swear, there's nothing I want more. I  _want_  you to make love to me." Finally convinced by the tightening hold Paul's legs had around John's head, he opened the cap to the lube and began to prepare the man. 

John took it as slow as possible, listening for every whimper and stifled groan from the younger man. Every other second, Paul's legs would shake and twitch with an anticipation for John's next move. The older man pushed himself inside his husband, a long breath escaping Paul as his arms wrapped around John's neck. Those hands soon journeyed to John's shoulders, kneading and massaging them. 

His lips peppered kisses along Paul's jawline, then his collarbone. John suckled on the skin of his husband's neck, lightly biting as he continued to gently thrust his hips. 

"Oh, Johnny," Paul whimpered. "Fu-fuck, Johnny, yes, right there," he hissed in pleasure. John's hand found Paul's hardened length, squeezing and pumping him at a leisurely pace. Paul arched his back, lips pressed together as his head fell to the side. 

When John had come, he did so while muffling any noises that happened to escape into Paul's neck. Paul soon followed with a high-pitched whine, spurting onto John's hand and his own stomach.  

The older man wanted to collapse into Paul's arms, but first pulled out and forced himself to get up and throw away the condom. Battling the awkward feeling in his legs, John went to the bathroom, retrieved a towel, and wiped the younger man off. 

John then allowed himself the pleasure of dropping next to Paul who was still lying on his back, panting. Sweat glistened on his skin, his hair tousled and messy against the pillow. John extended his arm to him, pulling him to his side, locking eyes with John.  

“How was it?” John asked as he traced shapes into Paul’s thigh.  

“Bloody fantastic,” Paul said, gulping in more air. He fully turned his body on its side, putting his weight on his one elbow. John had to keep control of himself, desperately wanting to grab and hold him, never letting go.  

“Been a whole year, hasn’t it?” John asked in disbelief.  

“Almost, hon. Got a few minutes, don’t we?” 

“Don’t be cheeky, son,” John chided, flicking the other man after fixing his glasses. There was no intent to take them off yet, he wanted to see every bit of this moment. He rolled onto his back with his head remaining on the side to see Paul.  

“Would ye change anything?” Paul tilted his head to the ceiling, pursing his lips. 

“Perhaps the whole living on my own for a few months and the fights,” Paul replied with a playful shrug. Then he appeared to start thinking again. “But, if it led to me, married and freshly fucked, in bed with you, then I suppose not.”  

John could not hide his smile, the intoxication of not just the wine, but something more, growing stronger in effect.  

The lights of the outside shined on Paul, rather than behind him. His facial features lit up and radiated in the darkness of the room. It were as though he himself was a star caught by the older man. John hoped that Paul saw him in a similar way, but the twinkle in his eyes confirmed just that.  

Paul appeared just as incredible as last year. It fazed John how he managed to remain so beautiful after everything. There was so much to tell the younger man, but John had no words to express it, and it was obvious that Paul felt the same. But the silent looks they shared spoke much more.  

"Any comebacks, Johnny?" Paul questioned with his thumb and forefinger taking John's glasses that were tilted against the pillow, and pushed them up a little.  

"Not one. I love you, Paul McCartney," the potent word of "love" left John's mouth as easily as any other, slipping right off the tongue. John loved many people in his life, but Paul was different, this love was different. It was one built on years of laughter, screaming, success, and tears, but he would never take a single part back.  

“Or should I say, Lennon-McCartney?” John added. 

“I still liked McCartney-Lennon more,” Paul playfully argued. 

“Is this gonna be our first fight married?” John chuckled, but Paul shook his head. 

"I love you too, John  _Lennon_ - _McCartney_ ," Paul replied with a soft-spoken voice, his fingers now tracing down John's face. The younger man brought his lips closer to John's for one last kiss. The older man mimicked the action, his eyes fluttering shut, and his lip moving closer and closer until... 

 _BANG!_  

John yelped, springing up from his relaxed position, then winced slightly. The bangs and pops came again, but the source became apparent when John realized it was outside, accompanied by the colorful explosions of light.  

"John...?" Paul sat up, wrapping his arms around his husband, concern was in his tone.  

"It's 1981, Paul." 

"Yeah, suppose it is." 

"Next year won't be easy, will it? Not that this one was a stroll, but now that we're actually married..." 

"Maybe not, but I think we'll be okay," Paul answered, that confidence so strong in him that John just had to believe it. 

"You sure?" 

"Very." A pair of lips stopped John from any further questions, not that he minded. Paul's kiss took John out of their room, out of New York City, away from the cheering people below, to somewhere only they knew. Another crackle from the outside shook the older man deep down, but was melted by the exhilarating euphoria infiltrating and spreading inside him. Their lips then parted with a single breath shared between them, the taste of each other blowing into each other's mouth.  

John gazed to the window one last time, intently watching the colors fully shine, then dim away with each pop. He thought about everything that happened within the small course of a year, just one single year. Hopefully there would be more for them, each better than the last.  

Strong arms hugged his stomach, the chin of the younger man digging into his back. Somehow, he knew it would be fine, especially with Paul with him. They would work together to ensure that it would get better, they had to. 

John still doesn't turn to Paul, but he doesn't need to. He laid his hand over his husband's, feeling the coldness of the metal band.  

He felt Paul's eyes on him rather than the fireworks just outside, and finally shifted his gaze to the younger man. 

"Happy New Year, Paul." 

"Happy New Year, John."  


End file.
